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LIB RARY OF CONGRE SS. 

TSTfTTT 

i^ajr m^mi lu*- 

Shelf ...:.„W..ST^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS. 



"JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE,' 

(MARIETTA HOLLEY.) 



ILLUSTRATED 

BY 

W. HAMILTON GIBSON, 

AND OTHEKS. 






FUNK & WAGNALLS, Publishers. 

NEW YORK : 1887. LONDON : 

iS & 20 ASTOR PLACE. 44 FLEET STREET. 

All rights reserved. 






Entered, iiccordinR to Act of Coiif^ress, in the year 1887, 

By MARIETTA HOLLEY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 



/2.-3'/ZY6 



DEDICATION. 



AViIKN I WKOTK MANY OK TIIKSK VKKSKS I WAS MXrCK YOHNOKK THAN 

I AM NOW, AND THE " HWP:KTEST EYES IN THE WOKLU " \V()i;i-I> 

IJKIOHTEN OVKK TlfEM, THKOUOH THE llEADEU's 

I.OVE FOK ME. I DEDICATE THEM TO HKK 

MKMOUV — THE MEMOKY OK 

MY MOTIIEIl. 



J^ 




H 


■Hi 


,_ ,_ 






CONTENTS. 


ix 

PAGE 






The Story of Gladys, 


75 






Farewell, 


83 






The Knight of Normandy, . . . . 


. 85 






Sometime, 


89 






Motives, 


. 92 






Nightfall, 


96 






His Place, 


97 






A Dream of Spring, 


100 






Waiting 


. 101 






A Song for Twilight, . . . 


104 






The Flight, 


. 105 






Comfort, 


107 






Jenny Allen, 


. 109 






The Unseen City, 


112 






The Wages op Sin, . . . . • 


. 114 






ISABELLE and I, 


121 






Good-by, 


. 126 






The Sea-Captain's Wooing, .... 


128 






lONE, 


. 130 






Summer Days, 


133 






The Lady Cecile, 


. 135 






Home, 


139 






Steps we Climb, 


. 141 






Squire Percy's Pride, 


145 






Roses of June, 


. 150 






Magdalena, 


155 






My Angel, 


. 158 






Grief, 


163 




fcf 






!« 


H 


i 


^ 


• 



i r 


\ 


r^^ 


*T 






-" 




CONTENTS. 


xi 

PAGE 






Wild Oats, . 


165 






ArxuMN, 


. 167 






The Faikest Land, 


170 






The Messenger, 


. 173 






Sleep, 


175 






The Soncx of the Siren, 


. 177 






Eighteen Sixty-Two, 


180 






Aweary, 


. 186 






Too Low, 


187 






At Last, 


. 189 






Twilight, 


191 






The Sewing-Girl, 


. 193 






Harry the First, 


196 






The Criminal's Betrothed, . . . . 


. 200 






Gone Before, 


202 






A Woman's Heart, : 


. 204 






Warning, 


206 






Genieve to Her Lover, 


. 208 






The Wild Rose, 


210 






Our Bird, 


. 212 




t r 


The Time that is to be, .... 


213 


)d 


♦t 


I 


t 





PEEFACE 



All through my busy years of prose writing I have oc- 
casionally jotted clown idle thoughts in rhyme. Imagining 
ideal scenes, ideal characters, and then, as is the way, I sup- 
pose, with more ambitious poets, trying to put myself in- 
side the personalities I have invoked, trying to feel as they 
would be likely to, speak the words I fancied they would 
say. 

The many faults of my verses I can see only too well ; 
their merits, if they have any, I leave with the j)ublic — which 
has always been so kind to me — to discover. 

And half-hopefuUy, half-fearfully, I send out the little 
craft on the wide sea strewn with so many wrecks. But 
thinking it must be safer from adverse winds .because it 
carries so low a sail, and will cruise along so clos6 to the 
shore and not try to sail out in the deep waters. 

And so I bid the dear little wanderer (dear to me), 

God-speed, and hovi voyage. 

Marietta Holley. 
New York, June, 188T. 



Z^-'^. 




WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? 

It is not the lark's clear tone 

Cleaving the morning air with a soaring cry, 

Nor tlie nightingale's dulcet melody all the Imlmy 

night— '\, 

!N^ot these alone 

Make the sweet sounds of summer ; 
But the drone of beetle and bee, the murmurous 

hum of the fly 
And the chirp of the cricket hidden out of sight — 
These help to make the summer. 

ISTot roses redly blown, 

]^or golden lilies, lighting the dusky meads, 

Nor proud imperial pansies, nor queen-cups quaint and rare- 

Not these alone 




IG WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? 

Make the sweet sights of summer ; 

But the countless forest leaves, the myriad wayside weeds 
And slender grasses, springing up everywhere — 
These help to make the summer. 

One heaven bends above ; 

The lowliest head ofttimes hath sweetest rest ; 

O'er song-bird in the pine, and bee in the ivy low, 

Is the same love, it is all God's summer ; 

Well pleased is He if we patiently do our best, 

So hum little bee, and low green grasses grow, 

You help to make the summer. 



THE BROTHEES. 

High on a rocky cliff did once a gray old castle stand, 
From whence rongh-bearded chieftains led their vassals — • 

ruled the land. 
For centuries had dwelt here sire and son, till it befell, 
Last of their ancient line, two brothers here alone did dwell. 

The eldest was stern-visaged, but the youngest smooth and 

fair 
Of countenance ; both zealous, men who bent the knee in 

prayer 
To God alone ; loved much, read much His holy word, 
And prayed above all gifts desired, that they might see their 

Lord. 

For this the elder brother carved a silent cell of stone. 
And in its deep and dreary depths he entered, dwelt alone, 
And strove with scourgings, vigils, fasts, to purify his gaze, 
And sought amidst these shadows to behold the Master's face. 

And from the love of God that smiles on us from bright- 
lipped flowers, 

And from the smile of God that falls in sunlight's golden 
showers. 



18 THE BROTHERS. 

That thrills earth's slumbering heart so, where its warm rays 

fall 
That it langhs out in beauty, turned he as from tempters all. 

From bird-song running morn's sweet-scented chalice o'er 

with cheer. 
The child's light laughter, lifting lowliest souls heaven near, 
From tears and glad smiles, linked light and gloom of the 

golden day, 
He counting these temptations all, austerely turned away. 

And thus he lived alone, unblest, and died unblest, alone. 
Save for a brother monk, who held the carved cross of stone 
In his cold, rigid clasp, the while his dying eyes did wear 
A look of mortal striving, mortal agony, and prayer. 

Though at the very last, as his stiff fingers dropped the cross, 
A gleam as from some distant city swept his face across. 
The clay lips settled into calm — thus did the monk attest, 
A look of one who through much peril enters into rest. 

Not thus did he, the younger brother, seek the Master's 
face ; 

But in earth's lowly places did he strive his steps to trace. 

Wherever want and grief besought with clamorous com- 
plaint. 

There he beheld his Lord — naked, athirst, and faint. 



THE BROTHERS. 19 

And when his hand was wet w^ith tears, wrung with a grate- 
ful grasp, 

lie lightly felt upon his palm the Elder Brother's clasp ; 

And when above the loathsome couch of woe and want 
bent he, 

A low voice thrilled his soul, " So have ye done it unto Me." 

Despised he not the mystic ties of blood, yet did he claim 
The broader, wider brotherhood, with every race and 

name ; 
To his own kin he kind and loyal was in truth, yet still. 
His mother and his brethren were all who did God's will 

All little ones were dear to him, for light from Paradise 
Seemed falling on him through their pure and innocent 

eyes; 
The very flowers that fringed cool streams, and gemmed the 

dewy sod, 
To his rapt vision seemed like the visible smiles of God. 

The deep's full heart that throbs unceasing 'gainst the silent 

ships, 
The waves together murmuring with weird, mysterious lips 
To hear their untranslated psalm, drew down his anointed 

ear. 
And listening, lo ! he heard God's voice, to Him was he so 

near. 



20 THE BROTHERS. 

The liappy hum. of bees to liim made summer silence sweet, 

Not ligbtly did lie view the very grass beneath his feet, 

It j3aved His presence-chamber, where he walked a happy 

guest, 
All I slight the veil between, in very truth his life was blest. 

And when on a still twilight passed he to the summer land. 
Those whom he had befriended, M^eeping, clinging to his 

hand, 
The west gleamed with a sudden glory, and from out the 

glow 
Trembled the semblance of a crown, and rested on his brow. 

And with wide, eager eyes he smiled, and stretched his 

hands abroad. 
As if his dearest friend were welcoming him to his abode ; 
Eternal silence sealed that wondrous smile as he cried — 
" Thy face ! Thy face, dear Lord !" and, saying this, lie died. 

But legends tell that on his grave fell such a strange, pure 

light. 
That wine-red roses planted thereupon would spring up 

white. 
Holding such mystic healing in their cool snow bloom, that 

lain 
On aching brows or sorroAvful hearts, they would ease their 

pain. 



A BICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

The years go by, but they little seem 

Like those within our dream ; 

The years that stood in such luring guise, 

Beckoning us into Paradise, 

To jailers turn as time goes by 

Guarding that fair land, By-and-By, 

Where we thought to blissfully rest. 

The sound of whose forests' balmy leaves 

Swaying to dream winds strangely sweet, 

We heard in our bed 'neath the cottage eaves, 

Whose towers we saw in the western skies 

When with eager eyes and tremulous lip, 

We watched the silent, silver ship 

Of the crescent moon, sailing out and away 

O'er the land we would reach some day, some day. 

But years have flown, and our weary feet 
Have never reached that Isle of the Blest ; 
But care we have felt, and an aching breast, 
A lifelong struggle, grief, unrest. 
That had no part in our boyish plans ; 
And yet I have gold, and houses, and lands, 



22 A BICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

And ladened vessels a white-winged fleet, 
That fly at my bidding across the sea ; 
And hats are doffed by wilHng hands 
As I tread the village street ; 
But wealth and fame are not to me 
What I thought that they would be. 

I turn from it all to wander back 
With Memory down the dusty track 
Of the years that lie between, 
To the farm-house old and brown, 
Shaded with poplars dusky green, 
I pause at its gate, not a bearded man, 
But a boy with earnest eyes. 

I stand at the gate and look around 

At the fresh, fair world that before me lies, 

The misty mountain-top aglow 

With love of the sun, and the pleasant ground 

Asleep at its feet, with sunny dreams 

Of milk-white flowers in its heart, and clear 

The tall church-spire in the distance gleams 

Pointing up to the tranquil sky's 

Blue roof that seems so near. 

And up from the woods the morning breeze 
Comes freighted with all the rich perfume 



A MICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

That from myriad spicy cups distils, 
Loitering along o'er the locust-trees. 
Scattering down the plum-trees' bloom 
In flakes of crimson snow — 
' Down on the gold of the daffodils 
That border the path below. 

And the silver thread of the rivulet 

Tangled and knotted with fern and sedge, 

And the mill-pond like a diamond set 

In the streamlet's emerald edge ; 

And over the stream on the gradual hill, 

Its headstones glimmering palely w^liite. 

Is the graveyard quiet and still. 

I wade through its grasses rank and deep. 

Past slanting marbles mossy and dim, 

Carven with lines from some old hymn, 

To one where my mother used to lean 

On Sunday noons and weep. 

That tall white shape I looked upon 

With a mysterious dread, 

Linking unto the senseless stone 

The image of the dead — 

The father I never had seen ; 

I remember on dark nights of storm. 

When our parlor was bright and warm, 

I would turn away from its glowing light, 



24; A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

And look far out in the clmrcliyard dim, 
And with infinite pity think of him 
Shut out alone in the dismal night. 

And the ruined mill by the waterfall, 

I see again its crumbling wall, 

And I hear the water's song. 

It all comes back to me — 

Its song comes back to me, 

Floating out like a spirit's call 

The drowsy air along ; 

Blending forever with my name 

"Wonderful prophecies, dreamy talk, 

Of future paths Avhen I should walk 

Crowned with manhood, and honor, and fame. 

I shut my eyes and the rich perfume 

Of the tropical lily fills the room 

From its censer of frosted snow ; 

But it seems to float to me through the night 

From those apple-blossoms red and white 

That starred tlie orchard's fragrant gloom ; 

Those old boughs hanging low, 

"Where my sister's swing swayed to and fro 

Through the scented aisles of the air ; 

c> 

While her merry voice and her laugh rung out 
Like a bird's, to answer my brother's shout. 
As he shook the boughs o'er her curly head, 



A MICH MAN'S REVERIE. 25 

Till the blossoms fell in a rosy rain 

On her neck and her shining hair. 

Oh, little Belle! 

Oh, little sister, I loved so well ; 

It seems to me almost as if she died 

In that lost time so gay and fair, 

And was buried in childhood's sunny plain ; 

And she who walks the street to-day. 

Or in gilded carriage sweeps through the town 

Staring her humbler sisters down. 

With her jewels gleaming like lucent flame. 

Proud of her grandeur and fine array, 

Is only a stranger, who bears her name. 

And the little boy who played with me. 
Hunting birds' -nests in sheltered nooks, 
Trudging at nightfall after the cows, 
Exploring the barn-loft, fording the brooks, 

ending, in school-time, puzzled brows 
Over the same small lesson books ; 
Who knelt by my side in the twilight dim, 
Praying " the Lord our souls to keep," 
Then on the same pillow fell asleep. 
Hushed by our mother's evening hymn ; 
Whose heart and mine kept such perfect time. 
Such loving cadence, such tender rhyme. 
Blent in child grief, and perfected in glee — 



26 A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

We meet on the street and we clasj) the hand, 
And our names on charitable papers stand 
Side by side, and we go and bow 
Our two gray heads with prayer and vow, 
In tlie same grand church, and hasty word 
Of anger, has never our bosoms stirred. 
Yet a whole wide world is between us now ; 
How broad and deep does the gulf apjjear 
Between the hearts that were so near ! 

I have pleasure grounds and mansions grand, 

Low-voiced servants come at my call, 

From Senate my name sounds over the land 

In " ayes " and " nays " so solemnly read ; 

They call me " Honorable," " General," and all, 

But to-night I am only Charley again, 

I am Charley, and want to lay my head 

On my mother's heart and rest, 

With her soft hand pressed upon my brow 

Curing its wear}' pain. 

But never, nevermore will it be, 

For mould and marble rises now 

Between my head and that loving breast ; 

And death has a cruel power to part — 

Forever gone and lost to me 

That true and tender heart. 



A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 27 

Oil, mother, I've never found love like thine, 

Never have eyes looked into mine 

AVith such proud love, such perfect trust. 

Never have hands been so true and kind, 

To lead me into the path of right — 

Hands so gentle, and soft, and white, 

That on my head like a blessing lay, 

And led me a child and guided my youth ; 

To-night 'tis a dreary thought, in truth. 

That those gentle hands are dust. 

"That I may be blamed, and you not be sad, 

That I may be praised, and you not be glad ; 

'Tis a dreary thought to your boy to-night. 

That over your sweet smile, over your brow, 

The clay-cold turf is pressing now. 

That never again as the twilight falls 

You will welcome your boy to the old brown walls 

Of the homestead far away. 

The homestead is ruined — gone to decay, 
But we read of a house not made with hands, 
Whose firm foundation forever stands ; 
And there is a twilight soft and sweet. 
Will she not stand with outstretched hands 
My homesick eyes to meet- 
To welcome her boy as in days before. 
To home, and to rest, f orevermore ? 



'2S A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

But the years come and the years go, 

And they lay on her grave as they silently pass, 

Red summer buds and wreaths of snow, 

And springing and fading grass. 

And far away in an English town, 

In the secluded, tranquil shade 

Of an old Cathedral quaint and brown. 

Another grave is made — 

A small grave, yet so high 

It shadowed all the world to me. 

And darkened earth and sky. 

But only for a time ; it passed, 

The nnreasoning agony. 

Like a cloud that drops its rain ; 

And light shone into our hearts at last, 

And patience born of pain. 

And now like a breath of healing balm 

The sweet thought comes to me, 

That my child has reached the Isle of Calm, 

Over the silent sea — 

That my pure little Blanche is safe in truth. 

Safe in immortal beauty and youth. 

When she left us in the twilight ffloom. 
When she left her empty nest, 
And the aching hearts below ; 
Full well, full M'ell I know, 



A ETCH MAN'S BEVERIE. 29 

What tender-eyed angel bent 

Down for my brown-eyed little bird, 

From the shining battlement. 

I know with what fond caressing, 

And loving smile and word, 

And look of tender blessing, 

She took her to her breast. 

And led her into some quiet room. 

In the mansions of the blest. 

Oh, mother, beloved, oh, child so dear, 

Not by a wish, would I lure you here. 

My son is a bright, brave boy, with a grace 

Of beauty caught from his mother's face. 

And his mother and he in truth are dear, 

Full tenderly, and fond, and near 

My lieart is bound to my wife and child ; 

But the summer of life is not its May, 

And dreams and hopes that our youth beguiled, 

Are but pallid forms of clay. 

Tliere's the boy's first love and passionate dream, 
A face like a morning star, a gleam 
Of hair the hue of a robin's wing — 
Brown hair aglow with a golden sheen, 
And eyes the sweetest that ever were seen. 



30 A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 

Marj, we have been parted long, 

You were proud, and we both were wrong, 

But 'tis over and past, no hving gleam 

Can come again to the dear, dead dream. 

It is dead, so let it lie, 

But nothing, nothing can ever be 

Like that old dream to you or to me. 

I think we shall know, shall know at last, 

All that was strange in all the past. 

Shall one day know, and shall haply see 

That the sorrows and ills, that with tears and sigh;; 

We vainly endeavored to flee, 

Were angels who, veiled in sorrow's guise 

Came to us only to bless. 

Maybe we shall kneel and kiss their feet, 

With grateful tears, when we shall meet 

Their unveiled faces, pure and sweet, 

Their eyes' deep tenderness. 

We shall know, perchance, had these angels come 

Like mendicants unto a kingly gate 

When we sat in joy's royal state. 

We had barred them from our home. 

But when in our doorway one appears 

Clothed in the purple of sorrow's power, 

He will enter in, no prayers or tears 

Avail us in that hour. 



A RICH MAN'S REVERIE. 31 

So what we call our pains and losses 
We may not always count aright, 
The rough bars of our heavy crosses 
May change to living light. 



GLORIA THE TRUE. 

Gayly a knight set forth against the foe. 
For a fair face had shone on him in dreams ; 
A voice had stirred the silence of his sleep, 
" Go win the battle, and I will be thine." 

So, for the love of those appealing eyes, 
Led by low accents of fair Gloria's voice. 
He wound the bugle down his castle's steep, 
And gayly rode to battle in the morn. 

And none were braver in the tented field. 
Like lightning heralding the doomful bolt ; 
The enemy beheld his snowy plume, 
And death-lights flashed along his glancing spear. 

But in the Ipnesome watches of the night, 
An angel came and warned him with clear voice, 
Against high God his rash right arm was raised. 
Was rashly raised against the true, the right. 

He strove to drown the angel voice with song 
And merry laughter with his princely peers ; 
But still the angel bade him with clear voice, 
" Go join the ranks you rashly have opposed." 



GLORIA THE TRUE, 33. 

" Oh, Angel !" cried he, " they are few and weak. 
They may not stand before the press of knights ;" 
But still the angel bade him with clear voice, 
" Go help the weak against the mighty wrong." 

At last the words sunk deep within his heart. 
With god-like courage cried he out at last, 
" Oh, Gloria, beautiful, I can lose thee. 
Lose life and thee, to battle for the right." 

And when he joined the brave and stalwart ranks. 
Like Saul amid his brethren he stood. 
Braver and seemlier than all his peers, 
And nobly did he battle for the right. 

Gentlest unto the weak, and in the fray, 
So dauntless, none — no fear of man had he ; 
He wrought disma}^ in Error's blackened ranks 
So nobly did he battle for the right. 

But at the last he lay on a lost field ; 
Couched on a broken spear, he pallid lay ; 
With dying lips he murmured Gloria's name, 
" The field is lost, and thou art lost to me." 

When, lo ! she stood beside him, pure and fair, 
With tender eyes that blessed him as he lay; 
And, lo ! she knelt and clasped his dying hands, 
And murmured, " I am thine, am thine at last." 



34 GLORIA THE TRUE. 

Witli wondering ejes, he moaned, " All — all is lost, 
And I am dying." " Ah, not so," she cried, 
" Nothing is lost to him who dare be true ; 
Who gives his life shall find it evermore." 

" Methought I saw the spears beat down like grain. 
And the ranks reel before the press of knights ; 
The level ground ran gory with our wounds ; 
Methought the field was lost, and then I fell." 

" Be calm," she cried, " the right is never lost, 
Though spear, and shield, and cross may shattered be, 
Out of their dust shall spring avenging blades 
That yet shall rid us of some giant wrong. 

" And all the blood that falls in righteous cause, 
Each crimson drop shall nourish snowy flowers 
And quicken golden grain, bright sheaves of good. 
That under happier skies shall yet be reaped. 

" When right opposes wrong, shall evil win ? 
Nay, never — but tlie year of God is long, 
And you are w^eary, rest ye now in peace. 
For so He giveth His beloved sleep." 

He smiled, and murmured low, " I am content," 
With blissful tears that hid the battle's loss ; 
So, held to her true heart he closed his eyes. 
In quietest rest that ever he had known. 



THE DEACON'S DAUGHTEE. 

The spare-room windows wide were raised, 
And you could look that summer day 

On pastures green, and sunny hills, 
And low rills wandering away. 

N'ear by, the square front yard was sweet 
With rose and caraway. 

Upon a couch drawn near the light, 
The Deacon's only daughter lay, 

Bending upon the distant hills 

Her eyes of dark and thoughtful gray ; 

The blue veins on her tforehead shone 
'Twas wasted so away. 

She moved, and from her slender hand 
Fell off her mother's wedding-ring ; 

She smiled into her father's face — 

" So drops from me each earthly thing ; 

My hands are free to hold the flowers 
Of the eternal spring." 

She had ever walked in quiet ways, 
'Not over beds of flowery ease. 



38 THE DEACOJrS DAUGHTER. 

But Snndajs in tlie village choir 

She sweetly sang of " ways of peace," 

Of " ways of peace find pleasantness," 
She trod such paths as these. 

No sweeter voice in all the choir 

Praised God in innocence and truth. 

The Deacon in his straight-backed pew 
Had dreams of her he lost in youth, 

And thought of fair-faced Hebrew maids — 
Of Rachel, and of Ruth. 

But she liad faded, day by day, 

Growing more mild, and pure, and sweet. 
As nearer to her ear there came 

A distant sea's mysterious beat. 
Till now this summer afternoon, 

Its waters touched her feet. 

Upon the painted porch without 

Two women stood, and whispered low. 

They thought " she'd go out with the day," 
They said, " the Deacon's wife w^ent so.'' 

And then they gently pitied him — 
" It was a dreadful blow." 

" But she was good, she was prepared. 
She would be better off than here," 



THE BEACON'S DAUGHTER. 

And then tliey thought " 'twas strange that he. 

Her father, had not shed a tear," 
And then they talked of news, and all 

The promise of the year. 

Her father sat beside the bed. 
Holding her cold hands tenderly. 

And to the everlasting hills 

He mutely turned his eyes away : 

" My God, my Shelter, and my Eock, 
Oh shadow me to-day I" 

He knew not when she crossed the stream. 
And passed into the land unseen. 

So gently did she go from him 
Into its pastures still and green ; 

Into the land of pure delight, 
And Jordan rolled between. 

Then knelt he down beside his dead, 
His white locks lit with sunset's flame : 

" My God ! oh leave me not alone — 
But blessed be Thy holy name." 

The golden gates were lifted up 
The King of Glory came. 



39 



SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 

SPEING. 

The sides of tlie lull were brown, but violet buds liad started 
In gray and bidden nooks o'erliung by feathery ferns and 
heather, 
And a bird in an April morn was never lighter-hearted 

Than the pilot swallow we saw convoying sunny weather, 
And sunshine golden, and gay-voiced singing-birds into the 
land ; 
And this was the song — the clear, shrill song of the 
swallow, 
That it carolled back to the southern sun, and his l)rown- 
winged band, 
Clear it arose, " Oh, follow me — come and follow — and 
follow." 

A tender story was in his eyes, he wished to tell me I knew, 
As he stood in the happy morn by my side at the garden- 
gate ; 
But I fancy the tall rose branches that bent and touched liis 
broAV, 
Were whispering to him, " Wait, impatient lieart, oh, 
wait, 



SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 41 

Before the bloom of the rose is the tender green of the leaf ; 

Not rash is he who wisely f olloweth patient Nature's ways, 
The lily-bnd of love should be swathed in a silken sheaf, 

Unfolding at will to summer bloom in the warm and per- 
fect days." 

ISo silently sailed the early sun, through clouds of fleecy 
white ; 
So stood we in dreamy silence, enwrapped in a tender 
spell ; 
But the pulses of soft Spring air were quickened to fresh 
delight. 
For I read in his eye the story sweet, he longed, yet feared 
to tell ; 
It spoke from his heart to mine, and needed no word from 
his mouth, 
And high o'er our heads rang out the happy song of the 
swallow ; 
It cried to the sunshine and beauty and bloom of the South, 
Exultingly carolling clear, " Oh, follow me — oh, follow." 



SPEING SONG or THE SWALLOW. 

Oh, the days are growing longer ; 
So rang the jubilant song of the swallow ; 
I come a-bringing beauty into the land, 



43 SOIfOS OF THE SWALLOW. 

The sky of the West grows warm and yellow, 
Oh, gladness comes with my light-winged band, 
And the days are growing longer. 

Oh, the days are growing longer, 
The wavy gleam of our fluttering wings. 

Touching the silent earth so lightly, 
Will wake all the sleeping, beautiful things, 
The world will glow so brightly — brightly ; 
And the days are growing longer. 

Oil, the days are growing longer, 
All the rivulets dumb will laugh, and run 

Over the meadows with dancing feet ; 
Following the silvery plough of the sun, 

Will be furrows filled with wild flowers sweet ; 
And the days are growing longer. 

Oh, the days are growing longer ; 
Over whispering streams will rushes lean. 

To answer the waves' soft murmurous call ; 
The lily will bend from its watch-tower green, 
To list to the lark's low madrigal, 

And the days are growing longer. 

Oh, the days are growing longer ; 
When they lengthen to ripe and perfect prime, 
Then, oh, then, I will build my happy nest ; 



SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 43 

And all in that pleasant and balmy time, 
There never will be a bird so blest ; 

And the days are growing longer. 



SUMMER, 



Now sinks the Summer sun into the sea ; 
Sure never such a sunset shone as this. 
That on its golden wing has borne such bliss ; 
Dear Love to thee and me. 

All, life was drear and lonely, missing thee, 
Though what my loss I did not then divine ; 
But all is past — the sweet words, thou art mine. 
Make bliss for thee and me. 

How swells the light breeze o'er the blossoming lea, 
Sure never winds swept past so sweet and low, 
]^o lonely, unblest future waiteth now ; 
Dear Love for thee and me. 

Look upward o'er the glowing West, and see, 
Surely the star of evening never shone 
With such a holy radiance — oh, my own, 
Heaven smiles on thee and me. 



4-1: SOWGS OF THE SWALLOW. 

SUMMER SONG OF THE SWALLOW. 

You will journey many a weary day and long. 
Ere you will see so restful and sweet a place, 
As this, my home, my nest so downy and warm, 

The labor of many happy and hopeful days ; 
But its low brown walls are laid and softly lined, 

And oh, full happily now my rest I take, 
And care not I when it lightly rocks in the wind, 
For the branch above though it beTids will never 
break ; 
And close by my side rings out the voice of my mate — 

my lover ; 
Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright — and 
Summer will last forever, 

N^ow the stream that divides us from perfect bliss 

Seems floating past so narrow — so narrow, 
You could span its wave such a morn as this. 

With a moment winged like a golden arrow, 
And the sweet wind waves all the tasselled broom, 

And over the hill does it loitering come. 
Oh, the perfect light — oh, the perfect bloom. 

And the silence is thrilled with the murmurous hum 
Of the bees a-kissing the red-li23ped clover ; 
Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright — and 
Summer will last forever. 



SO]:^GS OF THE SWALLOW. 45 

When the West is a golden glow, and lower 

The sun is sinking large and round, 
Like a golden goblet spilling o'er, 

Glittering drops that drip to the ground — 
Then I spread my lustrous wings and cleave the air 

Sailing high with a motion calm and slow, 
Far down the green earth lies like a picture fair, 

Then with rapid wing I sink in the shining gloM' ; 
A-chasing the glinting, gleaming drops ; oh, a diver 
Am I in a clear and a golden sea, and Summer will last 
forever. 

The leaves with a pleasant rustling soimd are stirred 

Of a night, and the stars are calm and bright ; 
And I know, although I am only a little bird, 

One large serious star is watching me all the night. 
For when the dewy leaves are waved by the breeze, 

I see it forever smiling down on me. 
So I cover my head with my wing, a'nd sleep in peace, 

As blessed as ever a little bird can be ; 
And the silver moonlight falls over land and sea and 

river. 
And the nights are cool, and the nights are still, and 
Summer will last forever. 

I think you would journey many and many a day. 
Ere you so contented and blest a bird would see ; 



46 SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 

Not all the ^vealth of the world could lure my love away. 

For my brown little nest is all the world to me ; 
And care not I if brighter bowers there are 

Lying close to the sun — where tall palms pierce the 
sky; 
Oh, you would journey a weary way and a fai-, 

Ere you would behold a bird so blest as 1 ; 
And singing close to my side is my mate — my king — 

my lover ; 
Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright — and 
Summer will last forever. 



AUTUMN. 

Yes ! yes ! I dare say it is so. 
And you should be pitied, but how could I know. 
Watching alone by the moon-lit bay ; 
But that is past for many a day. 
For the woman that loved, died years ago. 
Years ago. 

She had loving eyes, with a wistful look 
In their depths that day, and I know you took 
Her face in your hands and read it o'er, 
As if you should never see it more ; 
You were right, for she died long years ago. 
Years ago. 



SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 47 

Had I trusted you— for trust, you know 
Will keep love's fire forever aglow ; 
Then what w^ould have mattered storm or sun, 
But the watching— the waiting, all is done ; 
For the woman that loved, died years ago, 
Years ago. 

Yes ; I think you are constant, true and good, 
I am tired, and would love you if I could : 
I am tired, oh, friend, tired out ; and yet. 
Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset ? 
The woman that loved, died years ago, 
Years ago. 

Not a pulse of my heart is stirred by you, 
No ; even your tears cannot move me now ; 
So leave me alone, what is said is said. 
What boots your prayers, she is dead ! is dead ! 
The woman you loved, long years ago, 
Years ago. 



AUTUMN SONG OF THE SWALLOW. 

The sky is dark and the air is full of snow, 

I go to a warmer clime afar and away ; 
Thouffh mv heart is so tired I do not care for it now, 



48 SONGS OF THE SWALLOW. 

But here in my empty nest I cannot stay; 
Thus cried the swallow, 
I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me — oh, follow. 

(^ne night my mate came home with a broken wing. 
So he died ; and my brood went long ago ; 

And I am alone, and I have no heart to sing. 
With no one to hear my song, and I must go ; 
Thus cried the swallow. 

Away from dust and decay, oh, follow me — oh, follow. 

But I think I will never find so warm and safe a nest. 
As my home, in the pleasant days gone by, gone by, 

I think I shall never fold my wings in such happy rest, 
Never again — oh, never again till I die ; 
Thus cried the swallow. 

But I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me — oh, follow, 



THE COQUETTE. 

How can I be to blame ? 

Is it my fault I am fair ? 
I did not fashion my features, 

Or brush the gold in my hair ; 
Because my eyes are so blue and bright, 

Must I never look up from the ground, 
But put out with my eyelids' snow their light, 

Lest some foolish heart they should wound ? 

How can I be in fault ? 

I am sure where hearts are so few. 
It is difficult to discern 

The diamonds of paste from the true ; 
I thought him like all the rest, 

Skilful in playing his part ; 
As careful at cards or at chess, 

As winning a woman's heart. 

I am sure it is nothing wrong, 

IS'othing to think of — and yet 
I know I lured him with glance and song. 

Into my shining net ; 



50 THE COQUETTE. 

Provokingly cold at first he seemed, 
Like crystal to smiles and sighs, 

But at last he felt the magic that gleamed 
In my dreamy violet eyes. 

And I led him on and on, 

Farther, in truth, than I strove, 
For he frightened me with the earnestness 

And violence of his love ; 
These calm-eyed men deceive^ — 

Had I known the man had a heart, 
I would have paused, I would, I believe, 

Have acted a different part. 

In his royal indignation 

He uttered some wholesome truth — 
He almost roused the emotion 

That died in my innocent youth ; 
Emotion that lived when life was new, 

Ere that man my pathway crossed. 
Who played me a game untrue, 

When I staked all my love, and lost. 

Oh for a saintly beauty, 

What efforts my soul did make ; 

I thought all goodness and purity 
Wei-e possible for his sake ; 



THE COQUETTE. 51 

The world seemed born anew, my life 

Such holy meaning wore, 
I fancy so fair and fond a dream 

Never fell into ruins before. 

He toyed with my fresh affection 

As he breathed the country air, 
To refresh him after a season 

Of fashion, and falsehood, and glare ; 
Had he not slain my tenderness, 

Had my life been more sweet, 
I might have known nobler happiness 

Than to humble men to my feet. 

But now I love to lure them on. 

To make them slaves to my gaze. 
Like serfs to a conqueror's chariot, 

Like moths to a candle-blaze. 
I melt most royally tinae, the pearl. 

And quaff the cup like a queen, 
And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl. 

The woman I might have been. 



LITTLE NELL. 

Clasp your arms round her neck to-nig]it, 

Little Nell, 
Arms so delicate, soft and white. 
And yet so strong in love's strange might ; 
Clasj) them around the kneeling form, 
Fold them tenderly close and warm, 

And who can tell 
But such slight links may draw her back, 
Away from the fatal, fatal track ; 

Who can tell. 

Little Nell? 

Press your lips to the, lips of snow, 

Little Nell ; 
Oh bal)y heart, may you never know 
The anguish that makes them quiver so ; 
But now in her weakness and mortal pain. 
Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain. 

And who can tell 
But your innocent love, your childish kiss 
May lure her back from the dread abyss ; 

Who can tell. 

Little Nell. 



LITTLE NELL. 53 

Lay your cheek on her aching breast, 

Little Nell ; 
To you 'tis a refuge of holy rest, 
But a dying bird never drooped its crest 
With a deadlier pain in its wounded heart ; 
All ! love's sweet links may be torn apart. 

Little Nell ; 
The altar may flame with gems and gold, 
And splendor be |)Ought, and peace be sold, 

But is it well. 

Little Nell ? 

Yeil her face with your tresses bright, 

Little Nell ; 
Hide that vision out of her sight — 
Those dark dark eyes with their tender light — 
Uplift your pure face, can it be 
She will bid farewell to heaven and thee, 

Little Nell 'i 
No ; your mute lips plead with eloquent power, 
Her tears fall like a tropic shower ; 

All is well. 

Little Nell. 

Close your blue eyes now in sleep, 

Little Nell ; 
Her angel smiles to see her weep ; 



-'54 LITTLE NELL. 

At morn a ship will cleave the deep, 
And one alone will be borne awaj, 
And one will clasp thee close, and pray ; 

Oh Little Nell, 
I^ever, never beneath the sun, 
Will you dream what you this night have done. 

Done so well, 

Little Xell. 



THE FISHEK'S WIFE. 

A LONG, low waste of yellow sand 

Lay shining northward far as eye could reach, 

Southward a rocky bluff rose high 

Broken in wild, fantastic shapes. 

ISTear by, one jagged rock towered high, 

And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim, 

Striving to peer into the mysteries 

The ocean whispers of continually, 

And covers with her soft, treacherous face. 

For the rest, the sun was sinking low 

Like a great golden globe, into the sea ; 

Above the rock a bird was flying 

In dizzy circles, with shrill cries. 

And on a plank floated from some wreck. 

With shreds of musty seaweed 

Clinging to it yet, a woman sat 

Holding a child within her arms ; 

A sweet-faced woman — looking out to sea 

With dark, patient eyes,. and singing to the child, 

And this the song she in the sunset sang : 

Thine eyes are brown, my beauty, brown and bright. 
Drowned deep in languor now, the angel Sleep 



56 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 

Is clasping thee within her arms so white, 

Bearing thee up the Dreamland's sunny steep. 
Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

Thy father's boat, I see its swaying shroud 
Like a white sea-gull, swinging to and fro 

Against the ledges of a crimson cloud, 
A tiny bird with flutt'ring wing of snow. 

Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

Thy father toils beyond the harbor bar, 
And, singing at his toil, he thinks of thee ; 

Lit by the red lamp of the evening star 

Home will he come, will come to thee and me, 

* Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

His cabin shall be bright with flowers sweet, 
The table shall be set, the fire shall glow. 

We'll wait within the door, his coming steps to greet, 
And if my eye be sad, he will not know — 
Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

He will not pause to ponder things so slight. 
He is not one a smile to prize or miss ; 

Yet he would shield us with a strong arm's might. 
And he will meet us with a loving kiss — 

Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 



THE FISHERS WIFE. 57 

But would I eonld forget those other days 

Wlien if with gayer gleam mine eyes had shone. 

Or shade of sorrow, gentlest eyes wonld gaze 
With tender questioning into my own. 

Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

Thine eyes are brown — thou hast thy father's eyes, 
But those, my darling, those were clear and blue. 

Ah, me ! how sorrowfully that sea-bird cries. 
Cries for its mate, oh, tender bird and trne ; 
My baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

( )h, of my truest love well worthy he, 
And near was I, ah, nearest to his heart ; 

But ships are parted on the dreary sea 

Swept by the waves, forever swept apart — 
Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 

And sometimes sad-eyed women sighing say. 
Sweet love is lost, all that remains is rest. 

So in their weakness they are lured to lay 

Their head npon some strong and loving breast. 

Oh, baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 
* * * * * * 

Our cabin stands npon the dreary sands, 

And it is sad to be alone, alone. 
But on my bosom thou hast lain thy hands, 

ISTear to me art thou, near, my precious one — 
My baby, sleep, my baby, sleep. 



58 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 

The red light faded as she sung, 

A chill breeze rose and swept across the sea, 

She drew her cloak still closer round the child. 

And turned toward the cabin ; 

As she went a faint glow glimmered 

In the east, and slowly rose — 

The silver crescent of the moon. 

Another, paler light, than the warm sunset glow, 

But clear enough to guide her home. 



THE LAND OF LONG AGO. 

Now while the crimson light fades in the west. 
And twilight drops her purple shadows low — 

We stand with Memory on the mountain's crest, 
That overlooks the land of Long Ago. 

Unmoved and still the form beside us stands, 
While mournful tears our heavy eyes o'erflow. 

As silently he lifts his shadowy hands, 
And points us to the land of Long Ago. 

It lies in beauty 'neath our sad eyes' range. 
Bathed in a richer light, a warmer glow ; 

For fairer moons, and sunsets rare and strange^ 
Illume the landscape of the Long Ag(j. 

We see its vales of peace, its hills of light 
Shine in the rosy air, ah ! well we know — 

That nevermore will bless our yearning sight. 
So fair and dear a land as Long Ago. 

We see the gleaming spires of those high halls 

We garnished with bright gems and precious show ; 

No foot within the gilded doorway falls. 
Empty the rooms within the Long Ago. 



60 THE LAND OF LONG AGO. 

Troops of white doves still liaiint tlie shining towers, 
And fold in blissful calm, their wings of snow ; 

We bade them build their nests in brighter bowers, 
But still they linger in the Long Ago. 

There in its sunny bay stand stately ships. 

We freighted for fair lands where we would go ; 

Still gleams our gold within their secret crypts. 
Becalmed beside the shore of Long Ago. 

Between that land and this of dread and doubt, 
The silent years have drifted trackless snow ; 

Hiding the pathway where we wandered out. 
Forever from the land of Long Ago. 



LEMOINE. 

In the iinqiTiet night. 
With all her beauty bright, 

She walketh my silent chamber to and fro ; 
Not twice of the same mind, 
Sometimes unkind — unkind, 

And again no cooing dove hath a voice so sweet and low. 

Such madness of mirth lies 
In the haunting hazel eyes. 

When the melody of her laugh charms the listening 
night ; 
Its glamour as of old 
My charmed senses hold, 

Forget I earth and heaven in the pleasures of sense and 
sight. 

With sudden gay caprice 
Quaint sonnets doth she seize. 

Wedding them unto sweetness, falling from crimson lips ; 
Holding the broidered flowers 
Of those enchanted hours, 

When she wound my will with her silk round her white 
finger-tips. 



62 LEMOINE. 

Then doth she silent stand, 
Lifting her slender hand. 

On which gleams the ring I tore from his hand at Bay- 
wood ; 
The tiny opal hearts 
Are broken in two parts. 

And where the ruby bnrned there hangeth a drop of 
blood. 

Then with my burning cheek, 
Kaising my head, I speak, 

" Lemoine, Lemoine, my lost ! Oh, speak to me once, I 
pray !" 
But no word will she deign, 
Adown the shining lane. 

The long and lustrous lane of the moonlight she glides 
away. 

I fancy oft a stir, 

Of wings seem following her, 

Trailing a terrible gloom along the oaken floor, 
As she walks to and fro ; 
Louder the strange sounds grow 

To a nameless, dreadful horror, that floods the chamber 
o'er. 

And then I raise my head 
From terror-haunted bed, 



LEMOINE. G3 



And liTTsh my breath, and my very pulses hnsli and bark ; 
But as I glance around, 
Tbe stir, the munnuring sound, 

Dies away in the moonlight, lying there stiff and stark. 



And thus you ever flee. 
Elude and baffle me. 

My lady you will not always so lightly glide away ; 
Though on the swiftest breeze, 
You sail o'er farthest seas, 

Remember, side by side we two will stand one day. 

Though my dust feed the wind, 
Yours be with prayer consigned 

To the keeping of churchyard seraphs and marble saints ; 
Lemoine, we two shall meet. 
And not then at my feet 

Will you fetter a late repentance with wiles and tearful 
plaints. 

Repentance deep and strong. 
That would have found a tongue, 

And shrieked the truth to heaven with madd'ning din ; 
The truth of that dread hour, 
That black accursed hour, 

When to free you from hated fetters, I plunged my soul 
in sin. 



fi4 LEMOINE. 

Whatever wise man thinks, 
Sin forges strongest links. 

You can break tlieni never, although for a time jou may 
hide 
Buried in flowers and wine ; 
This chain of thine and mine. 

At the last dread day of doom will draw us side by side. 

If one, then both are cursed, 
And come the best, the worst. 

Forever and ever your fate and mine are entwined ; 
And though it be mad — mad, 
Heaven knows the thought is glad, 

I do not breed my thoughts, how can I help my mind. 



So silent doth she come, 
Standing here pale and dumb. 

With her finger laid on her lips in a Avarning way ; 
Her dark eyes looking back. 
As if upon her track 

And mine, some phantom shape of impending evil lay. 

But when I strive to see. 
Of what she's warning me. 

Cruelly calm, no sign will she deign to love or fears ; 
Unheeding vow or prayer. 
As noiseless as the air. 

She glideth into the pallid moonlight and disappears. 



SLEEP. 

Come to me soft-eyed sleep, 

With your ermine sandalled feet ; 
Press the pain from my troubled brow 

With your kisses cool and sweet ; 
Lull me with slumbrous song, 

Song of your clime, the blest, 
While on my heavy eyelids 

Your dewy fingers rest. 

Come with your native flowers, 

Heartsease and lotus bloom. 
Enwrap my weary senses 

With the cloud of their perfume ; 
For the whispers of thought tire me. 

Their constant, dull repeat. 
Like low waves throbbing, sobbing. 

With endless, endless beat. 



THE LADY MAUD. 

I SIT in the cloud and the darkness 
. Where I lost jon, peerless one ; 

Your bright face shines upon fairer lands, 
Like the dawning of the sun, 

And what to you is the rustic youth, 
You sometimes smiled upon. 

You have roamed through mighty cities, 

By the Orient's gleaming sea, 
Down the glittering streets of Venice, 

And soft-skied Araby ; 
Life to you lias been an anthem. 

But a solemn dirge to me. 

For everywhere, by Rome's bright hills, 

Or by the silvery Rhine, 
You win all hearts to you, where'er 

Your glancing tresses shine ; 
But, darling, the love of the many, 

Is not a love like mine. 

Last night I heard your voice in my dreams, 
I woke with a joyous thrill 



THE LADY MAUD. 67 

To hear bnt the half-awakened birds, 

For the dark dawn hngered still. 
And the lonesome sound of the waters, 

At the foot of Carey's hill. 

Oh the pines are dark on Carey's hill, 

And the waters are black below, 
But they shone like waves of jasper 

Upon one day I know, 
Tlie day I bore you out of the stream. 

With your face as white as snow. 

You lay like a little lamb in my arms, 

So frail a thing, so weak, 
And my coward lips said burning words 

They never had dared to speak 
If they had not felt the chill of your brow. 

And the marble of your cheek. 

Life had been but a bitter gift. 

That I fain would have thrown away. 

But I could have thanked my God on my knees, 
For giving me life that day. 

As I took you, lying so helpless, 
From the gates of death away. 

How your noble kinsmen laughed and wept 
O'er their treasure snatched from the flood, 



68 THE LAD Y MA UD. 

And your white-faced brother brought nie gold- 

You loved him, or I could 
Have obeyed the iiend that told me 

To curse him where he stood. 

Gold ! oh, darling, they had no need 

Such insults to repeat ; 
I knew the Heaven was above the earth, 

I knew, I knew, my sweet, 
I was not worthy to touch the shoes 

That covered your dainty feet. 

I knew as you laid your hand in mine, 

So kind as I turned away. 
That we were severed as wide apart. 

That hour, as we are to-day, 
And you in your stately English home. 

So far, so far away. 

That soft white hand you laid in mine 

With a smile as I turned to go. 
Oh, Lady Maud, I marvel 

If you ever stoop so low, 
As-to wonder what those tears meant. 

That glittered on its snow. 

But I know if you had dreamed the truth 
Your beautiful dark brown eyes 



THE LADY MAUD. 69 

Would only have grown more gentle, 

With a sorrowful surprise ; 
For a nobler and a kinder heart . 

N^e'er beat beneath the skies. 

You never meant to give me pain, 

But, oh, 'twas a cruel good, 
I so low in the world's esteem. 

You of such noble blood. 
That you stooped to as gentle words and deeds, 

As ever an angel could. 

I blessed you for your brightness 

When you came unto our shore, 
For the dull earth caught a beauty 

It never had before ; 
But you left a lonesome shadow. 

That will lie there evermore. 

How proud the good ship bore you 

Adown the golden bay. 
The sun's last light upon its sails — 

I stood there mournfully ; 
For I knew it left the darkness — 

Took the sunlight all away. 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

It stands alone on a haunted shore, 
Witli curious words of deathless lore 

On its massive gate impearled ; 
And its carefully guarded mystic key 
Locks in its silent mystery 

From the seeking eyes of the world. 

Oft do its stately walls repeat 
Echoes of music wildly sweet 

Swelling to gladness high — 
With mournful ballads of ancient time, 
And funeral hymns — and a nursery rhyme 

Dying away in a sigh. 

Pictures out of each haunted room, 
Up through the ghostly shadows loom, 

And gleam with a spectral light ; 
Pictures lit with a radiant glow. 
And some that image such desolate woe 

That, weeping, you turn from the siglit. 

Shining like stars in the twilight gloom 
Brows as white as a lily's bloom 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 71 

Gleam from its lattice and door ; 
And voices soft as a seraph's note, 
Through its mysterious chambers float 

Back from eternity's shore. 

In the mournful silence of midnight air 
You hear on its stately and winding stair 

The echoes of fairy feet. 
Gentle footsteps that lightly fall 
Through the enchanted castle hall. 

And up in the golden street. 

And still in a dark forsaken tower, 
Crowned with a withered cypress flower. 

Is a bowed head turned away ; 
A face like carved marble white, 
Sweet eyes drooping away from the light. 

Shunning the eye of day. 

And oft when the light burns low and dim 
A haggard form ungainly and grim 

Unbidden enters the door ; 
With chiding eyes whose burning light 
You fain would bury in darkness and night, 

INTever to meet you more. 

Mysteries strange its stiU walls keep, 

Strange are the forms that through it sweep — 



72 THE HAUNTED CASTLE, 

Walking by niglit and by day. 
But evermore will the castle ball 
Echo tbeir footsteps' phantom fall, 

Till its walls shall crumble away. 



V. 



THE STOKY OF GLADYS. 

" I LEAVE my child to Heaven." And with these words 

Upon her lips, the Lady Mildred passed 

Unto the rest prepared for her pure sonl ; 

Words that meant only this :' I cannot trust 

Unto her earthly parent my young child, 

So leave her to her heavenly Father's care ; 

And Heaven was gentle to the motherless, 

And fair and sweet the maiden, Gladys, grew, 

A pure white rose in the old castle set. 

The while her father rioted abroad. 

But as the day drew near when he should give. 

By his dead lady's will, his child her own. 

He having basely squandered all her wealth 

To him intrusted, to his land returned. 

And thrilled her trusting heart with terrors vague, 

Of peril, of some shame to come to him. 

Did she not yield unto his prayer — command. 

That she would to Our Lady's convent go. 

Forget the world and save him from disgrace. 

But hidden as she had been all her life 
From tender human ties, she loved the world 



76 THE STORT OF GLADYS. 

With all her loving heart, the fresh, free world 

That God had made, and this life seemed to her 

As but a living death, A living tomb 

The harsh stone walls that from the convent frowned 

Upon the peaceful valley sweet with flowers. 

The beautiful green valley, threaded by 

Bright rivulets that sought the quiet lake. 

Dear haunts sought daily by her maiden feet. 

And " wilt thou not, for my sake ?" and " thou shalt 

To save thy sire from shame !" So wore the days. 

And still she did not promise, though she wept 

At his wild pleadings, trembled at his rage ; 

Then of her mother's dying words he thought — 

Her dying words — " I leave my child to Heaven." 

And twisting them with his own wishes, wove 

A chain therewith that bound her wavering will ; 

A chain made mighty by the golden threads 

Of rev'rence and of holy memories. 

And so with heavy heart she gave her vow, 

That in the autumn she would leave the world. 

But first for one free summer did she pray. 

And through those bright spring days she roamed abroad, 
And poured upon the winds her low complaints ; 
The while her dark soft eyes sought all the earth, 
The beauteous earth that she too soon must leave ; 
And all her mournful murmurs ended thus 



TUE SrOBY OF QLADT8. 77 

With this sad cry of, " Oh, tiie happy world !" 
Ended with these low words as with a sigh, 
1 will obey, but, " oh, the happy world !" 



Oh, wondrous beauty of the morning skies ! 

Oh, wide green fields with beady dew impearled 
The lark soars upward, singing as she flies. 

Oh, wave of free, swift wings, oh, happy world ! 

Oh, wordless wonder of the evening sky. 
Far ivory citadels with flags unfurled ; 

Deep sapphire seas where rosy fleets float by 
The golden shores remote ; oh, happy world 1 



Oh, my blue violets by the laughing brook ! 

My shy, sweet darlings, in your green leaves curled, 
Bright eyes, sometime you will all vainly look 

For me, your lover. Oh, the happy world ! 

So passed the days of spring, and she must sign 
Dull papers to appease the hungry law. 
And to the castle down a writer came ; 
ISTo graybeard old, and dryer than his tomes, 
A tall, fair-faced youth, with bright, bold gaze, 
And blood that leaped afresh like crimson wine, 
Rash blood that led him to leap o'er a gate 
Five-barred, within the mossy park, upon 



78 THE STOBY OF GLADYS. 

The knight's old stumbling steed that played liini false 

To its own harm, for which it lost its life, 

More fortunate the youth, though bruised he, 

And bleeding from his many grievous wounds. 

And Gladys tended him with gentlest care 

Till love crept in and took the place of pain, 

And in her heart took Pity's weeping place 

And dwelt a king. He knew she was the bride 

Of Heaven, not to be vexed w^ith earthly love. 

But yet, upon the last night of his stay, 

As by the lake's low marge he met the maid, 

And saw her soft eyes fall before his own, 

He laid an almond blossom in her hand, 

A blossom that both sweet and bitter is. 

And said but this, " Say, is dear love a dream ?" 

" ISTay, not a dream," she murmured, looking out 

To where the light upon the waters lay, 

A golden pathway leading to the sun, 

" Dear love the wakening is, this life we live 

Is but a dream." Then with a sudden hope 

He would have caught her hands, but no, she clasped 

Them o'er the snowy muslin on her breast, 

And on her heart like drops of crimson blood, 

There lay the almond blossoms, bitter, sweet ; 

And far away her pure eyes looked adown 

That shining path across the summer sea, 



THE 8T0BT OF GLADYS. 79 

" Nay, life a long dream is, a sleep that lasts 
Until we waken in the land of love." 
But though thus calmly did she speak to him. 
When he had gone to hide his breaking heart 
As best he might, to bravely bide his time, 
And do his life work as she bade him do, 
Then all her lonely haunts echoed this cry, 
This cry of deeper anguish — " Oh, my heart !" 

Why did I pray for one more summer briglit, 
The outward world but held me in time past ; 

Now, life and love have added links of might, 
A chain that fetters me, that holds me fast ; 

I will, I will obey, but oh, my heart ! 

My life was like some little mountain spring 
By slight waves stirred till some deep overflow 

Swift breaks its peace, then with its risen king 
Down to the mighty deep it needs must go ; 

Thus did I follow love, but oh, my heart ! 

For dear love sought me, claimed me for his own, 
And called me with his voice so strong, so low, 

I followed unto bliss, thou hapless one, 
I did bethink me of my cruel vow. 

The vow I will obey, but oh, my heart ! 



80 THE STORY OF GLADYS. 

And through the long, still nights this cry was hers. 

As on her couch she lay till dreary dawn, 

Her large eyes dark with horror looking out 

Upon the pitchy darkness unafraid. 

And as the breathings of the new spring breeze, 

Soft sighs of sad complaint^ to autumn's storms 

Tliat hold the burdened sorrow of a year, 

Was this, her sigh of, " oh, the happy world I" 

To this despairing cry of, " oh, my heart !" 

And as the year's late winds leave pale and chill 

The earth, so did this weary cry of hers 

So oft repeated leave her lips like snow. 

And oft the lonely midnight heard her moan 

Of hopes foregone, that women hold most dear. 

" jSTo little ones to ever cling to me 

In closest love, look on me through his eyes 

And call me mother, bless me with his smile.'^ 

Then low in tearful prayer her voice would sound 

Despairing, wailing, through the lonely room. 

The silent turret chamber steep and high, 

" Thou maiden mother, Mary, knows my lieart, 

Tiiou who didst love and suffer, look on me. 

Oh, pity me, sweet mother of the Christ I" 

Then would the passion of her woe die out 
In dreary calm, and as a chidden child 



THE 8T0BY OF GLADYS. 81 

"Who cries himself to rest, sobs in his sleep, 

So pitifully would sound the latest words — 

" I will, I will be patient, and obey." 

But all the long days' silent anguish, all 

These secret trysts she kept alone with pain 

Wore her meek face, till like a spirit's looked 

It, gleaming white from out her shadowy hair. 

And so the last day came, the day of doom. 

The dreaded day when she should leave the world. 

But He who holdeth little useless birds 

In His protecting care, looked tenderly 

Upon this patient soul, so sorely tried. 

Tliis sweet soul purified by all its pain, 

For on this day, so fair a morn, it seemed 

A heavenly peace sunk down to this sad earth 

From gate ajar, the bright and pearly gate 

Swung widely open for an angel guest. 

A faithful servant climbed the winding stair, 

Sent by her eager father with the dawn 

To rouse her, tell her that the hour had come 

When she to save his name should leave the world. 

And as the woman stood beside the. couch 

She said, " Sweet soul, she talks out in her sleep." 

For there she lay with closed eyes murmuring low, 

With mournful brow and sad lips, " oh, dear love." 

Then cried out with a sob, " 'tis not a dream." 



82 THE STORY OF GLADYS. 

Then spake of blood-red blossoms, bitter, sweet, 
And with her white lips sighing this, she sunk 
Into what seemed to be a dreamless sleep. 

And as the loving servant weeping stood, 

Loath to awake her to her evil doom, 

She opened her large violet eyes, and gazed 

Upon the morning sunlight stealing in ; 

The clear light trembling, growing on the wall, 

And as she looked, her eyes grew like the eyes 

Of blessed angels looking on their Lord. 

And high toward Heaven slie lifted up her hands, 

Then clasped them in content upon her breast, 

And cried out in a glad voice, " oh, my heart !" 

And with such glory lighting up her face, 

As if the flood of joy had filled her heart, 

And overrun her lips with blissful smiles, 

She left the world, and saved her sire from shame. 



FAKEWELL. 

Lift up your brown eyes, darling, 

Not timidly and sliy, 
As in the fair, lost past, not thus 

I'd have you meet my eye. 
But grave, and calm, and earnest, 

Thus bravely should we part, 
Not sorrowfully, not lightly, 

And so farewell, dear heart. 

Yes, fare thee well, farewell, 

Whate'er shall me betide 
May gentlest angels comfort thee, 

And peace with thee abide ; 
Our love was but a stormy love, 

'Tis your will we should part — 
So smile upon me once, darling, 

And then farewell, dear heart. 

But lay your hand once on my brow, 

Set like a saintly crown, 
It will shield me, it will help me 

To hurl temptations down. 



84 FAREWELL. 



God give tliee better love than mine- 
Nay, dear, no tears must start. 

See, I am quiet, thou must be, 
And now farewell, dear heart. 



THE KjS^IGHT of NOEMANDY. 

Clear shone the moon, mj mansion walls 
Towered white above the wood, 

Kear, down the dark oak avenue 
An humble cottage stood. 

My gardener's cottage, small and brown, 

Yet precious unto me ; 
For there she dwelt, who sat by me 

That night beside the sea. 

So sweet, the white rose on her neck 

AVas not more fair than she, 
.As silently her soft brown eyes 

Looked outward o'er the sea. 

So still, the muslin o'er her heart 
Seemed with no breath to stir, 

As silently she sat and heard 
The tale I told to her. 

" It was a knight of ISTonnandy, 
He vowed on his good sword 

He would not wed his father's choice, 
The Lady Hildegarde. 



86 THE KNIGHT OF NORMANDY. 

" Near dwelt the beauteous Edith, 

A lowly maiden she — " 
Ah ! still unmoved, her dark sweet eyes 

Looked far away from me. 

" Dearer to him one blossom small 
That had but touched her hand, 
Than all the high-born beauties — 
The ladies of the land. 

'' Dearer to him," quick came my breath 

As I looked down on her, 
But the white roses in her hand 

No lightest leaf did stir. 

Ah ! wistfully I read her face, 

Full gently did I speak. 
No light dawned in her tender eye, 

No flush stole o'er her cheek. 

" He wore her colors on the field, 
He went where brave hearts were ; 

Ah, gallantl}^ and nobly 
He fought for love of her. 

" He loved her with his whole true heart," 

Now like a sudden flame 
Up to her cheek so pure and white, 

A flood of crimson came. 



THE KNIGHT OF NOBMANDT. 

Her hands unclasped, down to her feet 
My flowers unnoticed shook ; 

I leaned and followed with my gaze 
Her glad and eager look. 

I saw a boat sweep round the rock, 
Howed with a steady grace ; 

I saw the fisher's manly form. 
His brown and handsome face. 

" For love of her, to victory 

He his brave squadron led, 
Then broke his true heart, and her scarf 

Pillowed his dying head. 

*' So died this knight of Normandy, 
Died with his sword unstained ;" 

I know not that she heard my words. 
So near the boat had gained. 

I said, Heaven bless her, in my heart, 
She had no thought for me ; 

I turned away and left them there 
Beside the beating sea. 

Behind me lay the sweet moonlight. 

My shadow went before. 
And passed a dark and gloomy shape 

Before me through the door. 



THE KNIGHT OF NOBMANDT. 

O strange and sad tliis life of ours. 

This life beneath the sun ; 
O sad and strange and full of pain 

God help us, every one. 

God help us, that we may endure 

Like him of ISTormandy ; 
And die with sword unstained, that has 

Led us to victory. 



SOMETIME. 

On the shore I sit and gaze 

Out on the twihght sea, 
For my ship may come, though many days 

I have waited patiently ; 
With waiting trusting eyes, 

A lonely watch I keep 
For its silver sails to rise 

Like a blossom out of the deep. 

It is built of u costly wood. 

Bearing the strange perfume 
Of the gorgeous solitude. 

Where it grew in tropical gloom ; 
And the odorous scent, the spicy balm 

Of its isle it will bear to me. 
As I stand on the shore, in the magic calm 

And my ship comes in from sea. 

It is laden with all that is sweet 
Of the beauty of every clime ; 

Slowly and proudly 'twill glide to my feet 
In the eve of that fair " Sometime," 



90 SOMETIME. 

Before me its sails will be furled, 

A princess I shall be, 
Crowned with the wealth of the world, 

When my ship comes in from sea. 

Sweet faces I then shall see. 

Tender, nndoubting, true, 
Soft hands will be stretched to me 

With a welcome I never knew ; 
In the peace of such tenderness 

I shall rest forevermore. 
And weep in my perfect bliss. 

As I never wept before. 

Sometimes I think it is not far 

And I bend my head and list, 
For I think I see a slender spar 

Gleam through the golden mist ; 
And I fancy I hear the sound 

Of wind in a silken sail. 
And an odor rare from Eastern ground. 

Floats in on the languid gale. 

But I sit and watch the west 
Till the sun goes down, in vain ; 

It was only a cloud with an ivory crest, 
A cloud of vapor and rain ; 



SOMETIME. 91 



It rises and hides the sea, 

And my heart grows chill and numb, 
Lest this terrible thing should be. 

That my ship will never come.. 

But the morn is bright — the wave- 
Is a golden and shining track, 

Softly the waters the white sands lavey 
And my trusting faith comes back ; 

Oh, all that I ever lost, 
And all that I long to be, 

"Will be mine when the deep is crossed, 
And my ship comes home from sea. 



MOTIVES. 

I SAID that I would see 

Her once, to curse her fair, deceitful grace, 
To curse her for my life-long agony ; 

But when I saw her face, 
I said, " Sweet Christ, forgive both her and nie." 

High swelled the chanted hymn, 

Low on the marble swept the velvet pall. 

I bent above her, and my eyes grew dim, 
My sad heart saw it all — 

She loved me, loved me though she wedded liim. 

And then shot through my soul 

A thrill of fierce delight, to think that he 

Must yield her form, his all, to Death's control. 
The while her love for me 

Would live, when sun and stars had ceased to roll. 

But no, on the white brow. 

Graved in its marble, was deep calm impressed, 
Saying that peace had come to her through woe ; 

Saying, she had found rest 
At last, and I, I must not love her now. 



MOTIVES. 9-^ 

It may be in Heaven's grace, 

Beneath the shade of some immortal pahn, 
That God will let me see her angel face ; 

Then wild, wild heart be calm. 
Wipe out that old love, every sorrowful trace. 

I know that if it be. 

We two should meet again in Paradise, 
'T would trouble her pure soul if she should see 

The old grief in my eyes ; 
'T would grieve her dear heart through eternity. 

Wipe out that grief, my soul. 

And shall I lose all love, in losing this ? 

Unclasp my spirit, self's close stolid stole. 
Are there no lives to bless ? 

So will I give my love, my life, no stinted dole. 

God will note deeds and sighs. 

Throned in far splendor on the heavenly hill, 
Though mad sounds from this wretched planet rise — 

Moans wild enough to fill 
Heaven's air, and drown its harjDs in doleful cries. 

And angels shall look down. 

Through incense rising from my godly deeds. 
Approving gleam those eyes of tender brown ; 

Sure on a brow that bleeds. 
The thorns should change to a more glorious crown. 



94 MOTIVES, 

. Well done, my soul, well done. 

Out of thy grief to rear a ladder tall 
To reach the land that lies beyond the sun, 

To scale the jasper wall. 
And rise to glory on grief's stepping-stone. 

God looks into the tide. 

Angel and demon troubled, of a man's mind ; 
And if my alms are scattered far and wide, 

Only my love to find, 
Only to pave a path to reach her side — 

Will He accept from me 

My worship, gifts — the heavens are very still, 
No answer do I hear, no sign I see. 

If I but knew His will ; 
Would He would come a-walking on the sea. 



The storm is overpast, for sweet and fair 
A sudden radiance shone o'er wave and lea ; 

And in the glory trembling through the air. 
He came unto me walking on the sea. 

The heavy waves that had rushed to and fro 
Cowered at His feet in sudden melody ; 

And all transfigured in the shining glow 
Did He come to me walking on the sea. 



MOTIVES. 95 

Far off I saw His form, but knew it not ; 

He nearer drew, He smiled, mj fears did flee ; 
His loving look dispelled a lingering doubt, 

As He came to me o'er the twilight sea. 

I dropped my burden on the shelving sand 
So I might meet Him, if such bliss could be, 

I reached the shore, I knelt and kissed His hand 
With blissful tears beside the twilight sea. 

Such love He woke, I would my life have lain 
Low down to pave His way, " He loveth me 

AVho loveth this sad world, and blesseth man,"' 
Came blown to me across the twilight sea. 

Perplexing questions died within my breast, 
" Deep peace hath he who doetli lovingly 

My will, who loveth most, he loveth best," 
Came blown to me across the twilight sea. 

The storm was overpast, a breath of balm 

Lapped the low waves, and lingered on the lea, 

For in the twilight fell a holy calm, 
He came unto me walking on the sea. 



Was this a dream? If it were not a dream 
My life is blest in truth, and if it be, 

I know across the deep has fallen a gleam, 
A bridge of glory spans the twilight sea. 



OTGHTFALL. 

Soft o'er the meadow, and murmiiring mere, 
Falleth a shadow, near and more near ; 
Day like a white dove floats down the sky, 
Cometh the night, love, darkness is nigh ; 
So dies the happiest day. 

Slow in thy dark eye riseth a tear, 
Hear I thy sad sigh, Sorrow is near ; 
Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my breast, 
As day like a white dove flies down the west ; 
So dies the happiest day. 



HIS PLACE. 

So all tilings come to our mind at last, 

He is close by your side in the twilight gloom. 
And you two are alone in the dim old room, 

Yet he is mute, as you bade him be, time past. 

You bade him to weary you, never again 
"With his idle love, in truth he was wise^ 
For he spake no more, although in his eyes 

You read, you fancied, a language of pain. 

But this is past, and vex you he never will. 
With loving glance, or look of sad reproach ; 
His lips move not, smile not at your approach ; 

The flowers he clasps are not more calm and still, 

Your favorite flowers he has heard you praise, 
Purple pansies, and lilies creamy white ; 
But he offers them not to you to-night. 

He troubles you not, he has learned " his place.'' 

You wished to teach him that lesson, you told 
Him as much, you know, in this very room, 
'Twas about this hour, for the twilight gloom 

As now, was enwrapping you, fold on fold. 



98 HIS PLACE. 

Was " his place" in tlie liaunts of the lierded poor, 
Where the pestilence stalked with deadly l)reath 
Face to face with its dreadful shadow, death. 

How he wrestled with it from door to door. 

Giving his life that others life might find, 
Shaming you with his toil, his bravery, 
Xot by a word or look, no boaster he. 

He was always gentle to yon, and kind. 

He has found " his place," but no need of fears, 
No ; you need not summon your jealous pride, 
For " his place" will never be by your side, 

Nevermore, nevermore, through all the years. 

And when from Time shall drop Earth's days 
Like chaff from the bloom of the year sublime, 
With the gentle spirits of every time, 

And the martyr sotils, he will find his place. 

So answers will come to our seeking wills, 
Nevermore will his sad face vex your sight. 
For you never will make your robes so white 

As to stand by him on the heavenly hills. 

Yes, lay your cheek upon his, and press 

The clustering hair from his broad white l)row, 
Have no fear, he will not annoy you now 

By a word in praise of your loveliness. 



HIS PLACE. 99 

Yes, kneel by him, moaning, kissing liis brow, 
Not now will it grieve him, your tears' swift rain 
And he will not ask yon to share your pain ; 

Ah ! Once he would, but not now — not now. 

So leave the old room in the waning light. 
Go out in your peerless beauty and pride, 
And let no shadow go out by your side 

To follow you under the falling night. 



A DREAM OF SPRING. 

The world is asleep ! All hiislied is Nature's warm, sweet 

breath. 

The world is asleep, and dreaming the silent dream of 

snoM", 

But through the silence that seems like the silence of death. 

Under their shroud of ermine, the souls of the roses glow. 

And forever the heart of the water throbs and beats, 

Though bound by a million gleaming fetters and crystal 
rings, 
No sound on lonesome mornings the lonely watcher greets, 
But the frosty pane is impressed with the shadow of com- 
ing wings. 



WAITING. 

I KNOW not where you wait for me in all jour maiden 
sweetness, 

Sweet soul in wliom my life will find its rest, its full com- 
pleteness ; 

But somewhere you await me. Fate will lead us to each 
other. 

As roses know the sunlight, so shall we know one an- 
other. 

Dear lieart, what are you doing in this twilight's purple 

splendor. 
Do you teud your dewy flowers with fingers white and 

slender, 
Heavy, odor-laden branches in blessing bent above you, 
Fond lilies kneeling at your feet, wincls murmuring they 

love you ? 

Mayhap, your heart in maiden peace is like a closed bud 
sleeping. 

Wrapped in pure folds of saintly thought, its tender fresh- 
ness keeping. 



102 WAITlIf^G. 

Yet like a dream that comes in sleep, jour soul sweet quiet 

breaking, 
Is a thought of me, my darling, that shall come true on 

waking. 

Perchance you turn from passionate vows, words wild with 
love's sweet madness, 

With soft eyes looking far away, in yearning trust and sad- 
ness ; 

A look that tells his alien soul how widely you are parted, 

Though he knows not whom your rapt eyes seek, my sweet, 
my loving-hearted. 

Oh, the world is rough ; the heart against its sneers, its cold 
derision, 

Locks all its better feelings, making it a gloomy prison ; 

But your hand, my angel, shall unlock its rocky, dust-strewn 
portal. 

Your smile shall rouse its dying dreams of good to life im- 
mortal. 

You will make me better, purer, for love, the true refiner. 
Burning out the baser passions, will kindle the diviner. 
Will plead and win my spirit, not to shame its heavenly 

station. 
You will trust me, and that trust will prove my tempted 

soul's salvation. 



WAITING. 103 

God keep yon tenderly, my life's dear hope and nnseen 
blessing ; 

Oh, night wind, touch her tresses till I come with fond 
caressing. 

Thy crown of pearl-linked light, oh, royal moon stoop down 
and give her, 

Till queen of love's own kingdom, I crown her mine for- 
ever. 



A SONG FOR TWILIGHT. 

Oh ! the day was dark and dreaiy, 

For clouds swept o'er tlie sun, 
Tlie burden of life seemed heavy, 

And its warfare never done ; 
But I heard a voice at twilight, 

It whispered in my ear, 
" Oh, doubting heart, look upward, 

Dear soul, be of good cheer. 
Oh, weary heart, look upward, 

Dear soul, be of good cheer." 

And lo ! on looking upward 

The stars lit up the sky 
Like the lights of an endless city, 

A city set on high. 
And my heart forgot its sorrow 

These heavenly homes to see — 
Sure in those many mansions 

Is room for even me. 
Sure in those many mansions, 

Is room for thee and me. 



THE FLIGHT. 

Here in the silent doorway let me linger 

One moment, for the porch is still and lonely ; 
That shadow's but the rose vine in the moonliglit ; 

All are asleep in peace, I waken only, 
And he I wait, by my own heart's beating 

I know how slow to him the tide creeps by, 
]^or life, nor death, could bar our hearts from meeting; 

Were worlds between, his soul to mine would fly. 

Oh, shame ! to think a heap of paltry metal 

Should overbalance manhood's noblest graces ; 
A iilm of gold had gilt his worth and honor, 

Warming to smiles the coldness of their faces ; 
Gentle to me, they rise in condemnation, 

And plead with me than words more powerfully. 
Oh ! well I love them — but they have wealth and station 

To fill their hearts, and he has only me. 

But oh, my roses, how their great pure faces 

Beseech me as they bend from sculptured column. 

So with my wet cheek closely pressed against theni, 
I listen to their pleadings sweet and solemn. 



106 THE FLIGHT. 

Oh, Memory, if an hour of gloom and grieving 
I here have known, that hour before me set ; 

But all the peace and joy I am leaving, 
In mercy. Memory, let me forget. 

Oh, home ! if here a frown has ever chilled me, 

Let it now rise and darken on my sight. 
If a harsh word or look has ever grieved me, 

Let me remember that harsh word to-night. 
But all the tender words, the fond caressing, 

The loving smiles that daily I have met. 
The patient mother love, God's crowning blessing. 

In mercy, Memory, let me forget. 

Here she has kissed me with fond looks of greeting ; 

Will that smile fade when waiting me no longer "i 
Oh, true first love, tender and changing never ; 

But there's a love that nearer is and stronger — 
He comes ! I kneel and kiss the stone, oh, mother. 

Where you have stood and blessed me with your eyes ; 
Forgive — forgive me, mother — father — brother — 

For oh, he loves me — and love sanctifies. 



COMFOET. 

Once through an autumn wood 

I roamed in tearful mood, 
By grief dismayed, doubting, and ill at ease ; 

When from a leafless oak, 

Methought low murmurs broke, 
Complaining accents, as of words like tliese : 

" Incline thy mighty ear 

Great Mother Earth, and hear 
How I, thy child, am sorely vexed and tossed ; 

No one to heed my moan, 

I shudder here, alone 
With my destroyers, wind and snow, and frost. 

Then low and unaware 

This answer cleaved the air, 
This tender answer, " Doubting one be still ; 

Oh trust to me, and know 

The wind, the frost, the snow, 
Are but my servants sent to do my will. 

" For the destroyer frost, 
His labor is not lost. 



108 COMFORT. 

Rid tliee he sliall of many noisome things ; 

And thou shalt praise the snow 

When drinking far below 
Eefreshment sweet from overflowing springs. 

" My <;hild thou'rt not alone, 

I love thee, hear thy moan, 
But winds that fret thee only causeth thee 

To more securely stand, 

More firmly clasp my hand. 
And soaring upward, closer cling to me." 

Then from my burdened heart 

The shadows did depart, 
Then said I softly — " winds of sorrow blow 

So I but closer cling 

To thee, my Lord, my King, 
"Who loves me, even me, so weak and low." 



JENNY ALLEN. 

I NEVER shall hear jour voice again. 

Your voice so gentle and low ; 
But the thought of vou, Jenny Allen, 

Will go with me where I go. 
Your sweet voice drowns the Atlantic wave 

And the rush of the Alpine snow. 

You were very fair, Jenny Allen, 

Fair as a woodland rose ; 
Your heart was pure as an angel's heart, 

Too good for earth and its woes, 
And I loved you, Jenny Allen, 

With a sorrowful love, God knows. 

You loved me, Jenny Allen, 

My sorrow made me wise ; 
And I read your heart, 'twas an easy task, 

For within your clear blue eyes. 
Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out 

Like stars from the summer skies. 

He had riches and fame with his seventy years 
When he won you for his wife ; 



110 JENNT ALLEN. 

You -were but a cliild, and poor, and tired. 

Tired of toil and strife ; 
And you only thought of rest, poor dove. 

When you sold your beautiful life. 

Alas, for the hour I entered in 

Your halls of lordly mirth ; 
For I lost there, Jenny Allen, 

All that gives life worth ; 
You taught your teacher, Jenny, 

The saddest lesson of earth. 

Ah, woe's the hour I ever stepped 

Your mansion walls within ; 
For you loved me, Jenny Allen, 

But you never dreamed 'twas sin ; 
Your heart was white as a lily's heart, 

When it drinks the sunshine in. 

God pity me, Jenny Allen, 

That I ever loved you so, 
I would have died to give you peace. 

And I only gave you woe ; 
For your eyes looked like a wounded dove's. 

When I told you I must go. 

You were but a child, Jenny Allen, 
But that hour made you wise ; 



JENNT ALLEN. Ill 

A woman's grief and holy strength 

Sprang up in your mournful eyes ; 
Ah, you were an angel, Jenny, 

An angel in woman's guise. 

But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny, 

Your seraph features wore, 
As I left you that dark autumn morn, 

Left you forevermore ; 
And heaven seemed shut against me 

As I blindly shut that door. 

The years have rained on you golden gifts, 

You dwell in a queenly show ; 
There are jewels of price in your silken hair, 

And upon your neck of snow. 
Do you ever think of me, Jenny, 

And the dream of the long ago ? 

I have sat me down under foreign skies 

Afire with an Orient glow ; 
I have seen the moon gild the desert sand, 

And silver the Arctic snow, 
But the thought of you, Jenny Allen, 

Goes with me where I go. 



^ THE UNSEEN CITY. 

Not far away does that bright city stand, 
'Tis but the mist o'er its dividing stream, 

That wraps the glory of its glitt'ring strand. 
Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam ; 

Oh, often in the blindness of our fate 

We wander very near the city's gate. 

We love that unseen city, and we yearn 

Ever within our earthly homes to see 
Its golden towers, that in the sunset bum, 

Its white walls rising from the quiet sea ; 
Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow, 
Filled with the treasure lost to us below. 

Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there ; 

Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now ; 
Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair. 

Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow ; 
Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours 
Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers. 

Fairer it seems, its velvet walks were sweet, 
Dearer its quiet streets, with gold paved o'er, 



THE UNSEEN CITY. 113 

Since o'er tliem lightly fall the little feet — 

The light feet hounding through our homes no more ; 
Oh, heart's dear music, tearfully missed, 
That city's filled with melody like this. 

It is not far away ; down from its arches roll 

Anthems too sacred for the outward ear, 
Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul ; 

Oh, how our waiting spirits thrill to hear. 
In listening to the low bewildering strain, 
Voices they said we should not hear again. 

Oh, dear to us that city. He is there, 

He whom unseen we lore ; no need of light ; 

His tender eyes illume the crystal air 

Where His beloved walk in vesture white, 

What though on earth they wandered, poor, distressed, 

And saw through tears His glory, now they rest. 

Oh, that fair city, shining o'er the tide. 

Thither we journey through the storm and night ; 

But soon shall we adown its still bay glide. 
Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight. 

There with our own forever shall we be, 

In that fair city rising from the sea. 



THE AVAGES OF SIK 

I AM an outcast, sinful and vile I know, 

But what are you, my lady, so fair, and proud, and high ? 
The fringe of your robe just touched me, me so low — 

Your feet defiled, I saw the scorn in your eye. 
And the jeweled hand, that drew back your garments fine. 

What should you say if I told you to your face 
Your robes are dyed with as deep a stain as mine, 

Tlie only difference is you are better paid for disgrace. 

You loved a man, you promised to be his bride. 

Strong vows you gave, you were in the sight of Heaven 
his wife, 
And when you sold yourself for another's wealth, he died ; 

And what is that but murder? To take a life 
That is a little beyond my guilt, I ween, 

To murder the one you love is a crime of deeper grade 
Than mine, yet in purple you walk on the earth a queen ; 

I think the wages of sin are very unequally paid. 

For what did you receive M'hen you sold yourself for his gold. 
When with guilty loathing you plighted your wliite, false 
hand, 



TEE WAGES OF SIN. ' 117 

A palace in town and country, liis name long centuries old, 
A carriage with coachmen and footmen, wealth in broad 
tracts of land, 

"Wealth in coffers and vaults, high station, the family gems, 
For these you stood at God's altar and swore to a lie ; 

But smother your conscience to silence if it condemns. 
With this you are liberally paid for your life of infamy. 

"What wages did I receive when I gave myself for his love, 

So young, so weak, and loving him, loving him so — 
What did I get for my sin, O merciful God above ! 

But the terrible, terrible wages — pain and want and woe ; 
The world's scorn, and my own contempt and disdain, 

The hideous hue of guilt that stares in every eye. 
Like you I cannot 'broider with gold my garments' stain. 

You see, my lady, you get far better wages than I. 

In your constancy to sin you far exceed my power. 

Since that day marked with blackness from other da^^s — 
The day before your marriage — never since that hour 

Have I heard his voice, have I looked upon his face ; 
For I threw his gold at his feet and stole away 

Anywhere — anywhere — only out of his sight. 
Longing to hide from the mocking glare of the day. 

Longing to cover my eyes forever away from the light. 

And long I strove to hate him, for I thought 

I was so young, a friendless orphan left to his care, 



118 THE WAGES OF SIN. 

It was a terrible sin that lie had wrought, 
And since I had the burden of guilt to bear 

It was enough without the wild despair of love, 
So I strove to reason my passionate love to hate. 

Can we kneel with tears and bid the strong sun move 
Away from the sky? It is vain to war with fate. 

That a hard life I have lived since then, 'tis true, 

My hands are unblackened by sinful wages since that day, 
And my baby died, I was not fit, God knew 

To guide a sinless soul, so He took my bird away ; 
And my lieart was empty and lone as a robin's winter nest, 

Without the trusting eyes that never looked scornfully, 
The head that nestled fearlessly on my guilty breast, 

And the little constant hands that clung to me, even me. 

But I knew it were best for God to unclasp her liand 

From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust. 
Than for her to draw it from me, live to understand, 

Blush for her mother — had she lived she must. 
And then she had her father's smile, and his soft, dark eyes, 

Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways — his heart. 
It is well that she passed through the starry gate of the skies 

Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart. 

For I am a sinful woman, well I know. 

And though by others' sins my own are not excused, 



THE WAGES OF SIN. HO 

Things seem so strange to me in this strange world of woe, 
In a maze of doubt and wonder I get confused ; 

Whether a sin of impulse, born of a fatal love, 

Is worse than deliberate bargain, a life of legal shame. 

Legal below, I think in the courts above 

The heavenly scribes will call a crime by its right nanu;. 

But we stand before the wise, wise judgment-seat 

Of the world, and it calls you pure. 
That in your pearl-gemmed breast all saintly virtues meet. 

Holier than other holy women, higher, truer, 
So sweet a creature, an angel in woman's guise. 

They would not wonder much, though much they might 
admire. 
Should you be caught again up to your native skies 

From an alien world in a chariot of lire. 

So we stand before the tender judgment-seat 

Of the world, and it calls me vile, 
So low that it is a wonder God will let 

His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles. 
An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope. 

Beyond the lamp of their mercy's flickering light. 
They would scarcely wonder if the earth should ope 

And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight. 

Before another judgment-seat one day we will stand 
You and I, my lady, and he by our side. 



1^0 THE WAGES OF SIN. 

He who won my lieart, who held my life in his hand, 
He who bought yon with gold to be his bride ; 

Before an assembled world we shall stand, we three, 

To meet from the merciful Judge our doom of weal or 
woe, 

He holds His righteous balance true and evenly. 
And which is the vilest sinner we then shall know. 



ISABELLE AND I. 

IsABELLE lias goM, and lands, 

Fate gave lier a fair lot ; 
Like the white lilies of the field 

Her soft hands toil not. 
I gaze upon her splendor 

Without an envious sigh ; 
I have no wealth in lands and gold, 

And yet sweet peace have I. 

I know the blue skj smiles as brig] it 

On the low field violet, 
As on the proud crest of the pine 

On loftiest mountain set. 
I am content — God loveth all. 

And if He tenderly 
The sparrow guides, He knoweth best 

The place where I should be. 

Her violet velvet curtains trail 

Down to the marble floor, 
But brightly God's rich sunshine streams 

Into my cottage door ; 



122 I8ABELLE AND I. 

And not a picture on lier walls, 

Hatli beauty unto me, 
Like that wliich from my window frame 

I daily lean to see. 

She has known such pomp, she careth not 

For any humble sight ; 
Flowers bending o'er the brook's green edge, 

To her give no delight ; 
She tends her costly eastern bird 

With gold upon its wing ; 
But her wild roses bloom for me. 

For mo her wild birds sing. 

She tires of home, and fain would see 

The brightest climes of earth, 
And so she sails for summer lands 

With friends to share her mirth ; 
She waves her jewelled hand to me 

The opal spray-clouds fly ; 
She leaves me with the fading shore — 

Do I envy her ? not I. 

She will see the sailors' hardened palms 

Curbing the toiling sails. 
She will faint beneath the tropic calms 

And face the angry gales. 



I8ABELLE AND 1. 1^3 

She will labor for lier happiness 

While I've no need to speak, 
But on a lotus leaf I float, 

Unto the land they seek. 

There, like a dream from out the wave, 

I see a city rise, 
I stand entranced, as by a spell. 

Upon the Bridge of Sighs. 
The low and measured dip of oars 

Falls softly on my ear 
Blent with the tender evening song, 

Of some swart gondolier. 

And down from marble terraces 

Yeiled ladies slowly pass, 
And, entering antique barges, 

Glide down the streets of glass ; 
And eyes filled with the dew and fire 

Of their own midnight sky. 
Gleam full on me, as silently 

The gondolas float by. 

The sunset burns, and turns the wave 

To an enchanted stream. 
And far up on the shadowy steeps 

The white walled convents gleam, 



124 I8ABELLE AND I. 

The music of tlieir bells float out — 
The sweet wind bears it bj, 

Adown the warm and sunny slopes, 
AYhere purple vineyards lie. 

And I stand in old cathedrals, 

By tombs of buried kings, 
Wliite angels bend above them — 

Mute guard with folded wings. 
Far down the aisle the organ peals. 

The priests are knelt in prayer 
And memories flood its ancient walls. 

As the music fills the air. 

I may not see that blessed land, 

But she roams o'er the sod 
The Lord's pure eyes have hallowed, 

Where once His feet have trod. 
Yet He in mercy has drawn near, 

He has me comforted — 
So near He seemed I almost felt 

His hand upon my head. 

And I with slow and reverent steps 
Through ancient cities roam, 

Treading o'er crumbling columns. 
The dust of spire and dome ; 



I8ABELLE AND L 125 



The tall and shattered arches 
Their flickering shadows cast, 

Like bent and hoary spectres, 
Low murmuring of the past. 

And Isabelle toils o'er the Alps, 

Through fields of ice and snow, 
To see the lofty glaciers 

Flash in the sun's red glow. 
I feel no cold, and yet on high 

Their shining spires I see. 
Why should I envy Isabelle ? 

Why should she pity me ? 

AVhy should I envy Isabelle 

When thus so easily, 
Upon a tropic flower's perfume 

I float across the sea ? 



GOOD-BY. 

Again I see tliat May moon shine. 

Dost thou remember, soul of mine ? 

I held jour hand in mine, you know, 

And as I bent to whisper low, 

A tender light was in your eye, 

" Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." 

There came a time my lips were white 
Beneath the pale and cold moonlight, 
And burning words I might not speak. 
You read, love, in my ashen cheek, 
As my Avhole heart breathed in this one cry, 
" SAveetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." 

Time's waves that roll so swift and fleet 
Have borne you far from me, my sweet. 
Have borne you to a sunny bay, 
Where brightest sunshine gilds your way, 
Do these words ever dim your sky — 
Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by 'i 

I cannot tell, but this I know 
They go with me where'er I go. 



OOOD-BT. 127 

I hear tliem in tlie crowded mart, 
At midnight lone, they chill my heart — 
They dim for me the earth and sky, 
Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by. 

And in that lionr of mystery, 

When loved ones shall bend over me, 

Near ones to kiss my lips and weep. 

As nearer steals the dreamless sleep, 

From all I'll turn with this last sigh, 

'• Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." 



THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOIKG. 

Put the crown of your love on my forehead, 

Its sweet links clasped with a kiss, 
And all the great monarchs of England 

Never wore snch a gem as this. 
Give me your hand, little maiden, 

That sceptre so pearly white, 
And I'll envy not the kingliest wand 

That ever waved in might. 

I know 'tis like asking a morning cloud 

With a grim old mountain to stay, 
But your love would soften its ruggedness, 

And melt its roughness away. 
I have seen a delicate rosy cloud, 

A rough, gray cliif enfold, 
Till his heart was warmed by its loveliness, 

And his brow was tinged with its gold. 

Oh, poor and mean does my life show 
Compared with the beauty of thine. 

Like a diamond embedded in granite 
Your life would be set in mine ; 



THE SEA-CAPTAIN'S WOOING. 129 

But a faithful love should guard you, 

And shelter you from life's storm, 
The rock must be shivered to atoms 

Ere its treasure should come to harm. 

How your sweet face has shone on me 

From the tropics' midnight sea, 
When the sailors slept, and I kept watch 

Alone with my God and thee. 
I know your heart is relenting, 

The tender look in your eyes 
Seems like that sky's soft s]3lendor 

"When the sun was beginning to rise. 

You need not veil their glorious light 
With your eyelids' cloud of snow, 

A tell-tale bird with a crimson wing- 
On your cheek flies to and fro ; 

And whispers to me such blissful hope 
That my foolish tears will start, 

Ah, little bird ! your fluttering wing 
Is folded on my heart. 



lONE. 

I MIGHT strive as well to melt to softness the soulless breast 

Of some fair and saintly image, carven out of stone, 
Witli my smile, as to stir your lieart from its icy rest, 

Or mn a tender glance from your royal eyes, lone ; 
But your sad smile lures me on, as toward some fatal rock 

Is the fond wave drawn, but to break with passionate 
moan. 
Break ! to be spurned from its cold feet with a stony shock, 

As you would spurn my suppliant heart from your feet, 
lone. 

lone, there is a grave in the churchyard under the hill, 

The villagers shun like the unblest haunt of a ghost. 
Dropped there out of a dark spring night, I remember still. 

For a foreign ship had anchored that night on the coast ; 
■On the gray stone tablet is written this one word " Best." 

Did he who sleeps underneath seek for it vainly here ? 
What is the secret hidden there in the buried breast. 

The secret deeper sunken by dripping rains each year. 

"When autumn's bending boughs and harvests burdened the 
ground 
An early laborer, chancing to pass that way alone. 



lONE. 131 

Saw a small glove gleaming wliitelj upon the mound, 

And into the delicate wrist was woven " lone," 
And he said as he dropped it again his eye did mark — 
For this unknown, unhallowed grave had been shunned by 
all- 
A narrow footpath winding through to the lofty wall. 

That guards the wild grandeur and gloom of your fa- 
ther's park. 

'Tis well to put small faith in a simple rustic's eye, 

This story your father heard, and haughtily denied. 
The grass waves rankly now, and gives the fellow the lie, 

How many secrets the tall, deceitful grasses hide. 
Patting the turf that covers a maiden's innocent rest, 

And creeping and winding old haunted ruins among, 
As silently smooth's the mould above the murdered breast, 

Smothering down to deeper silence a buried wrong. 

In your father's gallery once, I saw your pictured face, 

lone you were not always so sad and pale as this, 
No beauty in all the long line of your noble race 

Had eyes so softly bathed in bright bewitchment of 
bliss, 
You were just nineteen, they said — it was painted in Spain 

The year before you came — it was on your foreign tour, 
By an artist too low to be reached by your disdain, 

A delicate, passionate-hearted boy, proud and poor. 



132 lONE. 

So said the rumors floating to us across the sea, 

You had only an invalid mother with you there, 
1 fancy that then you set your heart's pure feelings free 

For the first time, far from your proud old father's care, 
For you used to wander down the shaded garden ways. 

Your slight hand closely clasped by the fair-haired Eng- 
lish youth. 
His blue eyes bent on your blushing face, so rumor says. 

Though such light birds are not to be trusted much in 
truth. 

Your face is not the face that looked from the antique frame, 

lone, and even that is gone from the oaken wall ; 
That picture that never was painted for gold or fame. 

So vowed the artist friend who went with me to the hall ; 
But the pain on your white brow sits regally I ween, 

The smile on your perfect lips is perilously sweet. 
My slavish glances crown you my love, my fate, my queen. 

As you pass in peerless beauty adown the A'illage street. 



SUMMEE DAYS. 

Like emerald lakes the meadows lie. 

And daisies dot the main ; 
The sunbeams from the deep bine sky 

Drop down in golden rain, 
And gild the lily's silver bell, 

And coax buds apart. 
But I miss the sunshine of my youth. 

The summer of my heart. 

The wild birds sing the same glad song 

They sang in days of yore ; 
The laughing rivulet glides along, 

Low whispering to the shore, 
And its mystic water turns to gold 

The sunbeam's quivering dart. 
But I miss the sunshine of my youth, 

The summer of my heart. 

The south wind murmurs tenderly 

To the complaining leaves ; 
The Flower Queen gorgeous tapestry 
Of rose and purple weaves. 



134 SUMMER BAYS. 

Yes, Nature's smile, the weary while, 
Wears all its olden truth, 

But I miss the sunshine of my heart, 
The summer of my youth. 



THE LADY CECILE. 

Sitting alone in the windy tower, 

While the waves leap high, or are low at rest, 

What does she think of, hour by honr, 

With her strange eyes bent on the distant west, 
And a fresh white rose on her withered breast, 

What does she think of, hour by hour ? 

The Lady Cecile. 

Low under the lattice, day by day, 

White homeward sails like swallows come, 

But the sad eyes look afar and away, 

And the sailors' songs as they near their home, 
No glance may win, for she sitteth dumb, 

With her sad eyes looking afar and away. 

The Lady Cecile. 

Just forty years has she dwelt alone 

With an ancient servant, grim and gray, 

Sat alone under sun and moon ; 

But once each year, on the third of June, 
She treads the creaking staircase down. 

But back in her tower with the dying day, 

Is the Lady Cecile. 



136 TEE LADY CECILE. 

Beneath the tower of the lonesome hall. 

Stone stairs creep down where the slow tide flows, 

There, out of a niche in the mouldering wall. 
Low leaneth a royal tropical rose : 
Who set it there none cares, nor knows, 

Long years ago in the mouldering wall, 

But the Lady Cecile. 

But each third of June as the sun dips low, 
She descends the stairs to the water's verge. 

And i^lucks a rose from the lowest bough 
Which the lapping waves almost submerge, 
And what forms out of the deep, resurge 

To vex her, maybe, with mournful brow, 

Knows the Lady Cecile. 

Ller locks are sown with silver hairs. 

And the face they shroud is pale and wan ; 

Once it was sweet as the rose she wears. 

Though the perfect lips wore a proud disdain I 
But the rose-face paled by time and pain, 

Xo new springs know, like the flower she wears. 

The Lady Cecile. 

Why does she set the fresh white rose 
So faithfully over her silent breast ? 
And what her thoughts are nobody knows, 



THE LADY CECILE. 137 

She sits with her secret hid, iingnessed, 
With her strange ejes bent on the distant west, 
So the slow years come, and the slow year goes, 

O'er the Lady Cecile. 

Forty years ! and June the third 

Came with a storm — loud the winds did blow — 
And up in her tower the lady heard 

The deep waves calling her far below ; 

Wild they leaped and surged, wild the winds did blow. 
And, listening alone, she thought she heard 

"Cecile! Cecile!" 

And, wrapping her cloak round her withered form, 
She crept down the stairs of crumbling stone ; 

Higher and fiercer raged the storm 

As she bent and plucked the rose- — but one 

Had the tempest spared — and the winds did moan. 

And she thought that she heard o'er the voice of the storm, 

"Cecile! Cecile!" 

She placed the rose on her bloodless breast, 
And dizzy and faint she reached the tower, 

And her strange eyes looked out again on the west. 
And a wave dashed up, as she looked from the tower, 
Like a liand, and lifted the roots of the flower. 

And swept it — carried it out to the west, 

From the Lady Cecile. 



138 THE LADY CECILE. 

And like death was lier face, when suddenly, 
Strangely — a trem^^lous golden gleam 

Pierced the pile of clouds, high-massed and gray, 
And the shining, quivering, golden beam 
Seemed a bridge of light — a gold highway 

Thrown o'er the wild waves of the bay ; 

And the Lady Cecile 

Did eagerly out of her lattice lean 

With her glad eyes bent on that bridge gold-bright, 

As if some form by her rapt eyes seen, 

Were beckoning her down that path of light. 
That quivering, shining, led from sight. 

Ending afar in the sunset sheen. 

And the Lady Cecile 

Cried with her lips that erst were dumb 

" See-! am I not true ? your flower I wore," 

And her thin hand eagerly touched the flower, 
" He is smiling upon me ! yes, love, I come." 
And a pleasant light, like the light of home, 

Lit her eyes, and life and pain were o'er 

To the Lady Cecile. 



HOME. 

A SPIRIT is out to-niglit ! 

His steeds are tlie winds ; oli, list. 
How lie madly sweeps o'er tlie clouds, 

And scatters tlie driving mist. 

We will let tlie curtains fall 

Between us and the storm ; 
Wlieel the sofa up to the hearth, 

Where the fire is glowing %yarni. 

Little student, leave your book. 

And come and sit by my side ; 
If you dote on Tennyson so, 

I'll be jealous of him, my bride. 

There, now I can call you my own ! 

Let me push back the curls from your brow, 
And look in your dark eyes and see 

What my bird is thinking of now. 

Is she thinking of some high perch 

Of freedom, and lofty flight ? 
You smile ; oh, little wild bird, 

You are hopelessly bound to-night ! 



1-10 HOME. 

You are bound with a golden ring, 

And your captor, like some grim knight. 

Will lock you up in the deepest cell 
Of his heart, and liide you from sight. 

Sweetheart, sweetheart, do you hear far away 
The mournful voice of the sea ? 

It is telling me of the time 

When I thought you were lost to me. 

Nay, love, do not look so sad ; 

It is over, the doubt and the pain ; 
Hark ! sweet, to the song of the fire, 

And the whisper of the rain. 



STEPS WE CLIMB. 



Like idle clouds our lives move on, 
By change and chance as idly blown ; 
Our hopes like netted sparrows fly, 
And vainly beat their wings and die. 
Fate conquers all with stony will, 
Oh, heart, be still — be still ! 

II. 

ISio ! change and chance are slaves that wait 
On Him who guides the clouds, not fate, 
But the High King rules sea and sun, 
He conquers. He, the Mighty One. 
So powerless, 'neath that changeless will, 
Oh, heart, be still — -be still ! 

III. 

As a young bird fallen from its nest 
Beats wildly the kind hand against 
That lifts it up, so tremblingly 
Our hearts lie in God's hand, as He 



142 STEPS WE CLIMB. 

Uplifts them by His loving will, 
Oh, heart, be still — be still ! 

IV. 

Uplifts them to a perfect peace, 

A rest beyond all earthly ease, 

'Neath the white shadow of the throne — ■ 

Low nest forever overshone 

By tenderest love, our Lord's dear will ; 

Oh, heart, be still — be still ! 




ti :r^k:^:'^m 



'■■^"■""-^i^ 




SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE. 

The Squire was none of your common men 

Whose ancestors nobody knows, 
But visible was liis lineage 

In the lines of his Roman nose, 
That turned in the true patrician curve — 

In the curl of his princely lips, 
In his slightly insolent eyelids. 

In his pointed finger-tips. 

Yery erect and grand looked the Squire 

As he walked o'er his broad estate, 
Eor he felt that the earth was honored 

In bearing his honorable weight ; 
Proudly he strolled through his wooded park 

Deer-haunted and gloomily grand, 
Or gazed from his pillared porticoes 

On his far-outlying land. 

In a tiny whitewashed cottage, 

Half -covered with roses wild, 
His cheerful-faced old gardener dwelt 

Alone with his motherless child ; 



14G SQUIRE PERCY'S PRIDE. 

The Squire owned the very floor he trod, 

The grass in his garden lot, 
The poor man had only this one little lauih 

Yet he envied the rich man not. 

Poor was the gardener, yet rich withal 

In this priceless pearl of a girl, 
So perfect a form, so faultless a face ' 

JS'ever brightened the halls of an Earl ; 
Her eyes were two fathomless stars of light. 

And they shone on the Squire day by day, 
Till their warm and perilous splendor 

So melted his pride away, 

That he fain would have taken this pretty pet lamb 

To dwell in his stately fold. 
To fetter it fast with a jeweled chain, 

And cage it with bars of gold ; 
But this coy little lamb loved its freedom, 

]^ot so free was she, though, to l)e true. 
But, oh, the dainty and shy little laml» 

Well her master's voice she knew. 

'Twas vain for the Squire the story to tell 

Of his riches and high descent. 
As it fell into one rosy shell of an ear 

Out of its mate it went ; i 



SQUIRE PERCTS PRIDE. . 147 

How one grim old ancestor into tlie land 

With William the Conqueror came, 
She thought, the sweet, of a conqueror 

She knew with that very name. 

So in this tender conflict 

The great man was forced to yield 
To the handsome, sunburnt ploughman 

Who sowed and reaped in his field ; 
For vainly he poured out his glittering gifts, 

Yaiuly he plead and besought, 
Her heart was a tender and soft little heart. 

But it was not a heart to be bought. 

So strange a thing I warrant you 

Happens not every day, 
That the pride that had thriven for centuries 

One slight little maiden should slay ; 
Why the proud Squire's Homan features 

Quivered and burned with shame. 
And the picture of his grim ancestor 

Blushed in its antique frame. 

Were this a romance, an idle tale. 

The Squire would sicken and die, 
Slain by the pitiless cruelty, 

Of her dark and dazzling eye ; 



148 SQUIRE PEBCT'S PRIDE. 

And she in some shadowy convent 

Would bow her beautiful head, 
But tlie hand that should have told penitent beads 

Wore a plain gold ring instead. 

And he, not twice had his oak trees bloomed 
Ere he wedded a lady grand, 
I Whose tall and towering family tree, 
I Had for ages darkened the land ; 
'Twas a famous genealogical tree, 

With no modernly thrifty shoots, 
But a tree with a sap of royalty 
Encrusting its mossy old roots. 

This leaf he plucked from the outmost twig 

Was somewhat withered, 'tis true, 
Long years had flown since it lightly danced 

To the summer air and the dew ; 
Not much of a dowry brought she, 

In beanty or vulgar pelf, 
I But she had two or three ancestors 

More than the Squire himself. 

'Twas much to muse o'er their musty names. 
And to think that his children's brains 

Should be moved by the sanguine current, 
That had flown through such ancient veins ; 



SqUIBE PERCY'S PRIDE. 149 

But I think, sometimes, in his secret heart. 

The Squire breathed woful sighs 
For the fresh sweet face of tlie little maid, 

With the dark and wonderful eyes. 

But she, no bird ever sang such songs 

To its mate from contented nest, 
As this wee waiting wife, when the twilight 

Was treading the glorious west ; 
As she looked through the clustering roses. 

For the manly form that would come 
Up through the cool green evening fields 

To this sweet little wife and home. 

She could see the great stone mansion 

Towering over the oaks' dark green, 
And the lawn like emerald ver^^et, 

Fit for the feet of a queen ; 
But round this brown-eyed princess. 

Did Love his ermine fold, 
Queen was she of a richer realm, 

She had dearer wealth than gold. 



KOSES OF JUNE. 

She sat in the cottage door, and the fair June moon looked 
down 
On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face and sweet 
As the roses dewy white that grow so thick at lier feet, 

White, royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. 

And one is clasped in her slender hand, and one on her 

bosom lies. 

And two rare blushing buds loop up her light brown hair. 

Ah, roses of June, you never looked on a face so white 

and fair, 

Such perfectly moulded lips, such sweet and heavenly eyes. 

This low-walled home is dear to her, she has come to it 
to-day 
From the lordly groves of her palace home afar. 
But not to stay ; there's a light on her brow like the light 
of a star. 
And her eyes are looking beyond the earth, far, far away. 

She was born in this cottage home, the sweetest rosebud of 
spring. 



BOSES OF JUNE. 151 

And grew with its flowers, the fairest blossom of all. 
Till her friends ambitiously said she would grace the 
kingliest hall, 
And flattery breathed on her ear its passionate whispering. 

A man of riches and taste saw the maiden's face. 

And thought her beauty would grace his stately southern 

home. 
So he took her there, with pictures from France, and 
statues from Rome, 
And marvellous works of art from many an ancient place. 

He decked her in costly attire, and showed her Ijeauty with 
pride. 
As for sympathy and love, what need of these had she i 
He had placed her amidst the choicest treasures of land 
and sea. 
His marble Hebe never complained, and why should his 
bride ? 

He had polished the beautiful unknown gem and set it in 

. gold, 
He had given her his name and his w^ealth, what more 

could she ask ? 
When all other gifts were hers, it were surely an eas}' 
task 
Her pleading spirit's restless wings to fold. 



152 MOSES OF JUNK 

The wise world called her blest, so heart be still, 

She had beauty, and splendor, and youth, and a husband 

calmly kind, 
And crowds of flattering friends her lofty mansion lined, 

And dark-browed slaves awaited her queenly will. 

Why should she dream of the past, of the days of old, 
Of her childhood home, and more oft of the home of the 

dead, 
. Of the grave where she went alone the night before she 

was wed. 
And knelt, with her pure cheek pressed to the marble cold ? 

It was not sin, she said, that those eyes of darkest blue 
Haunted her dreams more wildly from day to day, 
Since they looked on Heaven now, and she was so far 
away. 

She could love the dead and still be to the living true. 

She could think of him, the one who loved her best. 
Of him who true had been if all the world deceived, 
Who felt all grief with her when she was grieved. 

And shared each joy that thrilled her girlish breast. 

It was not sin that she heard that voice, gentle and deep, 
And the echo of a name — it was cut in marble now — 
So it w^as not sin, she said, as she breathed it low 

In the midnight hour when all but she were asleep. 



ROSES OF JUNE. 158 

But slie wearier grew of pride and pomp, like a homesick 

child she pined, 
And paler grew her cheek, as worn with a wearing pain, 
. She said the fresh free country air would seem so sweet 

again. 
So she went to her childhood home, as a pilgrim goes to a 

shrine, 

And she looked down the orchard path and the meadow's 
clover bloom ; 
She stood by the stone-walled well that had mirrored lier 

face when a child, 
She saw where the robins built, and her roses clambered 
wild. 
And lingered lost in thought in each low and rustic room. 

And she sat in the cottage door while the fair June moon 
looked down 
On a face as pure as its own, an innocent face, and sweet 
As the roses wet with dew that grew so thick at her feet, 

"White, royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown. 

But at night, when silence and sleep on the lonely hamlet fell 
Like a spirit clad in white through the graveyard gate she 

passed. 
And the stars bent down to hear, " I have come to you, 
love, at last," 
While through the valley solemnly sounded the midnight bell. 



154 HOSES OF JUNE. 

And her southern birds will wait her coming in vain, 

Their starry eyes impatiently pierce the palm-trees' shade, 
And her roses droop in their bowers, alone they'll wither 
and fade. 
Roses of June you are gone, but we know you will blossom 
again. 



MAGDALENA. 

Who falsely called tliee destroyer, still white Angel of Death ? 

Oh not a destroyer here, but a kind restorer, thou. 
For the guilty look is gone, died out with her failing breath, 

And the sinless peace of a babe has come to lip and brow. 

Drowned in the heaving tide with her life, is her burden of 
woe, 
The dreary weight of sin, the woeful, troublesome years, 
The cold pure touch of the water has washed the shame 
from her brow 
Leaving a calm immortal, that looks like the chrism of peace. 

1 fancy her smile was like this, as she pulled at her mother's 
gown 
Drawing her out with childish fingers to watch the red of 
the skies 
On the old brown doorstep of home, while the peaceful sun 
went down, 
With her mother's hand on her brow, and the glow of the 
west in her eyes. 

" An outcast vile and lost," you say, yes, she went astray, 
Astray, when the crimson wine of life ran fresh and wild. 



156 MAGDALENA. 

AVitli motlier's tender liand no more on her brow, put away 
The grasses beneath, and she was alone and ahnost a child. 

Like a kid decoyed to its death, the stealthy panther lures, 
Mocking the voice of its dam, thus he led the innocent 
child 

Through her tenderness down to ruin, he is a friend of yours, 
And admired by all ; as you say, "men will be wild." 

But I wonder if God, so far above on His great white throne 
The clanginoj tumult of trouble and doubt that mortals vex ; 

When the murmur of a crime sweeps up from earth with 
woeful moan, 
If He pauses, ere He condemns, to ask the offender's sex. 

And if so, whether the weaker or stronger He blames the 
most, 
The tempter or tempted a tithe of His tender compassion 
claims. 
Whether the selfish or too unselfish, those who through love 
or lust are lost. 
He in His infinite wisdom and mercy most condemns. 

Frown not, I know her evil our womanly nature shuns. 
Turns from, with shuddering horror ; but now so low is 
her head 

For God's sake, woman, remember your own little ones 
Lying safely at home in their snow-white sheltered bed. 



MAGBALENA. 157 

Your own little girls, for tliem does tlie flame of your anger 
burn, 
" Sucli creatures will draw down innocence into guilt and 
woe." 
I think from eternity vast slie will scarcely return 

To entice them to sin, you can safely forgive her now. 

" You will not countenance wrong, but fiercely war for the 
right 
Even unto the bitter death." Very good, you should do so, 
J>ut, my friend, if your own secret thought had blossomed to 
light 
In temptation, you might have been in this outcast's jolace, 
you know. 

So let us be pitiful, grateful that God's strong hand 

Has held our own, and the tale of a woman's despair 
And penitent sin. He stooped and wrote in the perishing 
sand ; 
We carve the record in stone, weak, sinful souls that we 
are. 

In the arms of the kind all-mother, but close to the sorrow- 
ful wave. 

With its voice no longer moaning to her a despairing call, 
But a dirge deploring and deep ; we will make her grave. 

With healing grasses above her, and God over all. 



MY ANGEL. 

Last night she came unto me, 

And kneeling by my side, 
Laid her head npon my bosom, 

My beantiful, my bride ; 
My lost one, with her soft dark eyes, 

And waves of sunny hair. 
I smoothed the shining tresses, 
With tearful, fond caresses. 

And words of thankful prayer. 

And then a thrill of doubt and pain, 

My jealous heart swept o'er ; 
We were parted — she was dwelling 

Upon a far-off shore ; 
Yet He who made my sad heart, knew 

I loved her more and more ; 
My love more true and perfect grew, 

As each dark day passed o'er ; 
But she whose heart had been my own. 

Who loved me tenderly. 
Whose last low words I knelt to hear, 

Were, " How can I leave thee ?" 



MY ANGEL. 159 

And " Deatli would seem as sweet as life, 

Could we together be." 
Now, though we two were parted 

By such a distance wide, 
By such a strange and viewless realm, 

By such a boundless tide, 
Her gentle face was radiant 

With a surpassing bliss ; 
She was happier in that distant land. 

Than she ever was in this. 
And in some other tenderness, 

Some other love divine. 
She had found a peace and happiness, 

She never found in mine. 

So with a tender chiding, 

I could not quite suppress. 
Though well my darling knew 

I would not make her pleasures less. 
" Are you happy, love ?" I said, 

" Are you happy, love, without me ?" 
Then she raised her gentle head, 

And twined her arms about me ; 
Yet while my tears fell faster, 

Beneath her mute caress, 
Her face had all the glory 

Of a sainted soul at rest ; 



KJO MY ANGEL. 

And her voice was sweet as music, 
"• I am happy — I am blest." 

" Do you know how lonely-hearted 
I have been each weary day, 

Praying that each passing hour 
Would bear my life away, 

Tliat we might be united 
T^pon that distant shore f 

" Laurence, we ai'e not parted, 
I am with you evermore." 

" I cannot see you, darling. 
Your face I cannot see." 

" Can you see the moon's white fingers. 

That leads the pleading sea? 
Oa7i you see the fragrance lingering 

Where summer roses be ? 
The soft winds tender clasping. 

The close-enwrapping air 
Enfolding you— Oh, Laurence, 

I am with you everywhere." 

Tlieu while her face grew brighter 
As with a heavenly glow, 



MY A NO EL. 161 

In tenderness unspeakable, 

She kissed my lips and brow ; 
Then I lost her — then she left me, 

As at the set of day 
The snowy clouds float outward, 

And melt in light away. 
I heard low strains of melody 

JSTo earthly choir could sing, 
A light breath floated past me, 

As from a gliding wing ; 
And on my darkened spirit 

There fell so bright a gleam, 
I knew the blessed vision 

Was not in truth a dream ; 
Though death had won from my embrace, 

My beautiful, my bride, 
I had won a richer treasure. 

An angel by my side. 

The Father careth for us all 

In pity, and I know 
My love is not forever gone 

From him who loved her so ; 
"VVlien a few more days have drifted 

Their shadows over me, 
Wlien the golden gates are lifted. 

My angel I shall see ; 



162 MY ANGEL. 

Her veiled face in its glory 
Upon my gaze will rise, 

And Heaven will shine upon me 
Through the sweetness of her eyes. 



GKIEF. 

What tlioiigli the Eden moms were sweet with song 
Passing all sweetness that our thought can reach ; 

Crushing its flowers noon's chariot moved along 
In brightness far transcending mortal speech ; 

Yet in the twilight shades did God appear, 

Oh welcome shadows so that He draw near. 

Prosperity is flushed with Papal ease 

And grants indulgences to pride of word, 

Robing our soul in pomp and vanities. 
Ah ! no fit dwelling for our gentle Lord ; 

Grief rends those draperies of pride and sin, 

And so our Lord will deign to enter in. 

Then carefully we curb each thought of wrong, 
We walk more softly, with more reverent feet — 

As in His presence chamber, hush our tongue. 
And in the holy quiet, solemn, sweet. 

We feel His smile, we hear His voice so low. 

So we can bless Him that He gave us woe. 

What cares the sailor in the sheltered cove 
For the past peril of the stormy sea ; 



164 ORIEF. 

Dear from griefs storm the liaven of His love, 
And so He bring-etli us where we would be ; 
We trust in Him, we lean upon His breast, 
Who shall make trouble when He givetli rest ? 



WILD OATS, 

Oh gay joiing husbandmen would yon be sure of a crop 

Upspringing rankly, an abundant and bountiful yield ? 

Go forth in the morning, and sow on your life's broad field 
This pleasantly odorous seed, then smooth the ground on top, 

Or leave it rough, with the utmost undeceit, 
Never you fear, it will thriftily thrive and grow, 

Loading the harvest plain beneath your feet, 
With the ripened sheavesof shame, remorse, and woe. 

You have but to sow the seed, no care will it want, 
Yor he who soweth tares while the husbandman sleeps 
Taketh unwearied pains, a vigilant guard he keeps 

Tirelessly watching, and tending each evil plant. 

These are his pleasure gardens, leased to him through time 
Where he walketh to and fro, chanting a demon song : 
Tending with ghastly fingers, the scarlet buds of wrong, 

And drinking greedily in the sweet perfume of crime. 

And of all the seeds, the one that thriftiest thrives 
Is the color of ruby wine, when it flashes high — 
Who would think the tiny seed so fair to the eye 

Could cast such a deadly shade over countless lives, 



166 WILD OATS. 

And branch out into murder in one springing shoot ; 
Thrifty branches of sin, bristling with tliorns of woe 
Shadowing graves wliere broken hearts lie low, 

And minds that were God-like lowered beneath the brute. 



autum:n^. 

How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood, 
What a monrnful presence brooded upon the slumbrous 
air; 
A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the depths of the 
silent wood. 
And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, 
Thrilling my being through with its bitter, bitter cry — 
" It were better to die, it were better to die." 

For she, my love, my fate, she sat by my side 

On a fallen oak, her cheek all flushed with a bashful 
shame, 
Telling me what her innocent heart had hid — 

" For was not I her brother, her dear brother, all but in 
name." 
I listened to her low words, but turned my face away — 
Away from her eyes' soft light, and the mocking light of the 
day. 

"• He was noble and proud," she said, " and had chosen lier 
from all 
The haughty ladies, and great ; she didn't deserve her lot," 



168 A UTUMN. 

I knew her peer could never be found in palace or hall, 

And my white face told my thought, but she saw it not. 
She was crushing some scarlet leaves in her dainty fingers 

of snow. 
Her maiden joy crowning her face with a radiant glow, 

" She had wanted me to know," and then a smile and a 
blush ; 
Her smile was always just like a baby's smile, and the red 
Came to her cheek at a word or a glance — then there fell 
a hush. 
She was waiting some word from me, I knew, so I said, 
" May Heaven bless you both " — words spoken full quietly. 
And she, God bless her, never knew how much they cost 
to me. 

How the sumac banners bent, dripping as if with blood. 
What a mournful presence brooded upon the slumljrous 
air ; 
A mocking-bird screamed noisily in the de^Dths of the silent 
wood, 
And in my heart was crying the raven of despair, 
Thrilling my being through M'ith its desolate, desolate cry — 
" It were better to die, it were better to die." 

The white dawn follows the darkness ; out of the years' decay 
Shineth the golden fire that gildeth the autumn Avitli 
light; 



AUTUMN. 169 

From another's sin and loss, cometh this good to me, 
By another's fall am I raised to this blissful height. 
" Let me be humble," said my heart, as from her sweet lips 

fell, 
" Let a prayer for him arise, with the sound of our marriage 

bell." 



THE FAIREST LAND. 

'TwAs a hleak dull moor that stretched before 
The low stone porch of the cottage door, 
And standing there was a youth and maid, 
He for long journeying seemed arrayed, 
And the sunset flamed in the burnished w^est, 
And a proud throb beat in the young man's breast. 
As he whispered, " Sweet, will you come to me 
In that fairer land beyond the sea ?" 

" The wonderful western land ; in dreams 
I have seen its prairies green, and gleams 
Of its shining waterfalls, valleys fair, 
And a voice in my dreams has called me there 
Where man is a man, and not a clod, 
And must bend the knee to none but God. 
A home will I make for thee and me 
In that fairer land beyond the sea." 

" But the cruel sea where the fated ships 

Go down to their doom" — But he kissed the lips— 

The trembling lips, till tliey smiled again. 

And his bright liopes cheered lier heart's dull pain, 



TEE FAIREST LAND. 171 

And she laid her head on his hopeful breast, 
And looked with him to the glowing w^est, 
And said, " I will come, I will come to thee 
To that fairer land beyond the sea." 

And the crimson light changed to daffodil — - 
To ashen gray, but they stood there still, 
And high o'er the west shone the evening star- 
As still he pictured that home afar — 
" The peace and the bliss our own at last 
When this dreary parting all is past, 
When my heart's dear love, you come to me 
In that fairer land beyond the sea." 

So he sailed ; but saddest 'tis alway 
]S^ot for those who go, but for those wdio stay ; 
And her sweet eyes gathered a shadow dim 
As days went by with no news of him, 
And weeks and months, but at last it came, 
As the gray moor shone with the sunset flame 
Her quick eyes glanced the strange lines o'er, 
Then she fell like dead on the cottage floor. 

'Twas a stranded ship on a rocky coast. 
One true heart brave, when hope was lost. 
How he toiled till all the shore had gained. 
And only a baby form remained 



l'?2 THE FAIREST LAND. 

On ship, how he breasted the surging tide 
With Death a-wrestling side by side, 
How he lifted the child to its mother's knee, 
As a great wave washed him out to sea. 

And for days the maid in the cottage door 
Sat and looked o'er the dreary moor. 
Her cheeks grew white 'neath her blinding tears, 
And the sunset rays seemed cruel spears 
That pierced her heart ; and ashen gray 
Turned the earth and sky, the night, the day ; 
But at last a star shone high above — 
The tender star of the heavenly love. 

For as her life ebbed day by day. 
The High Countrie, the Fair alway, 
Rose 'fore her eyes, the safe, sweet home. 
And she seemed to hear, " Love, will you come f 
And so one eve when a bridge of gold 
Seemed spanning the last sea dim and cold, 
She went to him, for aye to be 
In the Fairest land beyond the sea. 



THE MESSENGER. 

Is liis form hidden by some cliff or crag, 
Or does he loiter on the shelving shore ? 

We know not, though we know he waits for ns, 
Somewhere upon the road that lies before. 

And when he bids us we must follow him, 

Must leave our half-drawn nets, our houses, lands. 

And those we love the most, and best, ah they 
In vain will cling to us with pleading hands ! 

He Avill not wait for us to gird our robes. 

And be they white as saints, or soiled and dim, 

"We can but gather them around our form. 
And take his icy hand and follow him. 

Oh ! will our palm cling to another palm, 

Loath, loath to loose our hold of love's warm grasp. 

Or shall we free our hand from the hand of grief. 
And reach it gladly out to meet his clasp ? 

Sometimes I marvel when we two shall meet. 
When I shall hear that stealthy step, and see 

The unseen form that haunteth mortal dreams, 
The stern-browed face, the eyes of mystery. 



174 THE MESSENGER. 

Shall I be waiting for some wished-for wealth, 
Impatient, by the shore of a purple sea ? 

But when the vessel's keel grates on the sand, 
Will he lean down its side and call to me ? 

Shall I in thymj pastures cool and sweet 
See the lark soaring through the rosy air ? 

Ah, then, will his dark face look down on me, 
'ISTeath the white splendor of the morning star ? 

Shall I be resting from the noonday blaze, 
In the rich summer of a blossoming land, 

And idly glancing through the lotus leaves. 
Behold the shadow of his beckoning hand ? 

Or in some inland village, shaded deep, 
AVith silence brooding o'er the quiet place, 

Shall I look from some lattice crowned with flowers, 
In the calm twilight and behold his face ? 

Or shall I over such a lonely way. 

Beset with fears, my weary footsteps wend, 

So desolate, that I shall greet his face 

With joy as a desired and welcome friend I 

Oh, little matters it when we shall meet. 

Upon the quiet shore, or on the sea. 
If he shall lead us to the golden gate. 

Dear Lord, if he shall lead us unto Thee. 



SLEEP. 

C'oME, gentle sleep, with the holy night, 

Come with the stars and the white moonbeams, 

Come with your train of handmaids bright, 
Blessed and beautiful dreams. 

Bring the exile to his home again. 

Let him catch the gleam of its low white wall ; 
Let his wife cling to his neck and weep. 

And his children come at their father's call. 

Give to the mother the child she lost, 

Laid from her heart to a clay -cold bed ; 
Let its breath float over her tear-wet cheek, 

And her cold heart warm 'neath its bi"ight young head. 

Take the sinner's hand and lead him back 
To his sinless youth and his mother's knee ; 

Let him kneel again 'neath her tender look, 
And murmur the prayer of his infancy. 

Lead the aged into that wondrous clime. 

Home of their youth and land of their bliss ; 

Let them forget in that beautiful world, 
The sin and the sorrow of this. 



176 SLEEP. 

And gentlj lead my love, mj own, 
Tenderly clasp her snow-white hand. 

Wrap her in garments of soft repose, 
And lead her into your mystic land. 

Let your fairest handmaids bow at her feet, 
Her path o'er your loveliest roses be ; 

And let all the flowers with their perfumed lips 
Whisper of me — of me. 

Come, gentle sleej), with the holy night. 

Come with the stars and the white moonbeams, 

Come with your train of handmaids bright, 
Blessed and beautiful dreams. 



THE SONG OF THE SIREK 

On, I am the siren, the siren of the sea, 

The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore before ; 
I stand a fairy shape upon the shadow of a clifE 

Where the water's drowsy ripple laps the phantom of a 
shore. 
And, oh, so fair, so fair am I, I draw all hearts to me. 
For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 

All the glory of my golden tresses gleams upon the air. 
How it falls about my snowy shoulders, round and l)are 
and white ; 
My lips are full of love as rounded grapes are full of 
wine. 
And my eyes are large and languid, and full of dewy 
light ; 
Oh, I lure the idle landsmen many a league for love of me. 
For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 

Sometimes they press so near that my lireath is on their 
cheek. 
And their eager hands can almost touch the glowing bowl 
I bear, 



178 THE SONG OF THE SIREN. 

Tliev can see the beaded, froth, the ruby glitter of the wine, 
Then I slip from their embraces like a breath of summer 
air ; 
Oh, I lightly, lightly glide away, they come no nigher me, 
For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 

Sometimes I float along a-standing in a boat. 

Before the ships becalmed, where dusky sailors stand, 
And the helmsman drops his oar, and the lookout leaves his 
glass. 
So I beckon them, and lure them, with the whiteness of 
my hand ; 
Oil, this the song I sing, well they listen unto ine '\ 
For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 

Would you from toil and labor flee, 
Oh float ye out on this wonderful sea. 
From islands of spice the zephyrs blow, 
Swaying the galleys to and fro ; 
Silken sails and a balmy breeze 
Shall waft you unto a perfect ease. 

Fold your hands and rest, and rest, 
The sun sails on from the east to the west, 
The days will come, and the days M'ill go, 
"What good can man for his labor show 
In passionless peace, come float Avith me 
Over the waves of this wonderful sea. 



THE SONG OF THE SIBEN. 179 

"Would you forget, oh sorrowful soul, 
Come and drink of this golden bowl. 
With jewelled poppies about the rim, 
Drink of the wine that flushes its brim. 
And drown all your haunting memories there, 
Your woe and your weary care. 

Oh, 1 am the siren, the siren of the sea, 

The sea, the wondrous sea, that lies forevermore before ; 
Oh, the mj'Stic music ripples, how they break in rosy spray, 

But the crystal wave will mock them, they will reach it 
nevermore, 
For it glides away, I glide away, they come no nigher me. 
For I am the siren, the siren of the sea. 



EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. 



Theke's a tear in your eye, little Sybil, 

Gathering large and slow ; 
Oil, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, 

AVliat are you tliinking of now ? 

Push back the velvet curtains 

That darken the lonely room, 
For shadows peer out of their crimson depths, 

And the statues gleam white in the gloom. 

How the cannons' thunder rolls along. 

And shakes the lattice and wall, 
Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, 

What if your father should fall 'i 

The smoky clouds sweep up from the Held 

And darken the earth and sea, 
" God save him ! God save him !" 

Wherever he may be. 



EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO. 183 



11. 



Oh, pretty dark-eyed bird of the South, 
With your face so mournful and white 

There is many a little JSTorthem girl 
That is breathing that prayer to-night. 

There's a little girl on the hills of Maine 
Looking out through the fading light, 

She looks down the winding path, and says, 
" He will surely come to-night !" 

The table is set, the lamp is trimmed. 

The lire has a ruddy glow 
That streams like a beacon down the patli. 

To the dusky valley below. 

There is smiling hope on the pretty face 

Pressed so close to the pane. 
And her eyes are like blue violets 

After a summer rain. 



III. 

How you tremble, little Sybil, 
At the cannons' dreadful sound, 

Did you see far away, the fallen steed, 
And its rider prone on the ground ? 



184 EIGHTEEN SIXTY- TWO. 

The dark brown locks so low in the dust, 
The scarf with a crimson stain — 

Oh, Sybil, poor little Sybil, 
He will not come back again. 



IV. 



Right gallantly and well he fought 
Hand to hand with as brave a foe, 

Their faces hid by the nodding plumes, 
And the dense clouds hanging low. 

Did they think, these hot-blooded captains, 
That Death was so close by their side, 

When Howard has fallen, the bravest — 
Rung out on the air far and wide. 

" Howard ?" His foeman kneels by his side. 
And I'aises his head to his knee — 

Oh, God ! that brothers should part in youth, 
And thus should their meeting be. 

Unheard is the deafening battle roar. 

Unseen is that dying look ; 
He hears but the sound of a childish laugh, 

And the song of a Northern brook. 



EIGHTEEN SIXTY- TWO. 185 

He sees two white forms kneeling 

In the twihght sweet and dim, 
One low couch angel -guarded. 

By a mothers evening hymn. 



The Angel of Death came down with the night, 
Came down with the gathering gloom ; 

God pity the little dark-eyed girl, 
Alone in the lonely room. 

But still by his side his brother kneels, 

Chill horror has frozen his veins ; 
He heeds not the glancing shower of shells. 

That with red fire glitters and rains. 

And he heeds not the fiery cavalry charge, 

That sweeps like a billow on 
To death, oh, the bravest and saddest sight, 

That man ever gazed upon ! 

The last shot ! What is one life 

To the battle's gory gain ? 
But, alas, for the little blue-eyed maid 

Away on the hills of Maine ! 



AWEAEY. 

The clouds that vex the upper deep 
Stay not the white sail of the moon ; 

And lips may moan, and hearts may weep. 
The sad old earth goes rolling on. 

O'er smiling vale, and sighing lake. 
One shadow cold is overthrown ; 

And souls may faint, and hearts may Ijreak, 
The sad old earth goes rolling on. 



TOO LOW. 

" My lioiise is thatclied with violet leaves 

And paved with daisies fine, 
Scarlet berries droop over its eaves, 

Tall grasses round it shine ; 
"With softest down I have hned mj nest, 
Securely now will I sit and rest. 

" When their wings break from their silvery sliell, 

Touched by my tender care, 
Here shall my little ones safely dwell. 

Little ones soft and fair ; 
Some summer morn they shall try their wings 
While their father sits by my side and sings." 

Hard by, just over the streamlet's edge 

A great rock towered in might, 
High up, half hidden in moss and sedge. 

Were safe little nooks and bright ; 
Ah well for the bird ^vith her tender breast, 
Had she flown to the rock to build her nest ! 

Poor bird, she built her nest too low ; 
Alas ! for the bird, alas ! 



188 TOO LOW. 



That she chose that spot to lier woe 

In the low dewy grass ; 
For the reaper came with his gleaming blade. 
Alas for love in the violet shade I 



AT LAST. 

What tlioiigli upon a wintry sea our life bark sails, 
What though we tremble 'neath its cruel gales, 

Its icy blast ; 
We see a happy port lie far before, 
We see its shining waves, its sunny shore, 
Where we shall wander, and forget the troubled past, 

At last. 

No storms approach that quiet shore, no night 
Falls on its silver streams, and valleys bright, 

And gardens vast ; 
Within that pleasant land of perfect peace 
Our toil-worn feet shall stay, our wanderings cea^e ; 
There shall we, resting, all forget the past. 

At last. 

The sorrows we have hid in silent weariness. 
As birds above a wounded, bleeding breast, 

Their bright plumes cast ; 
The griefs like mourners in a dark array. 
That haunt our footsteps here, will flee away. 
And leave us to forget the sorrowful past, 

At last. 



190 AT LAST. 

Yoices we loved sound from those far-o£E lands, 
And tlirill our liearts ; life's golden sands 

Are dropping fast ; 
Soon sliall we meet by the river of peace, and say. 
As the night liees before the eye of day, 
So faded from our eyes the mournful past, 

At last. 



TWILIGHT. 

Draped in shadows stands the mountain 

Against the eastern skj, 
Above it the fair summer moon 

Looks downward tenderly ; 
And Yenus in the glowing west, 

Opens her languid eye. 

IN'ow the winds breathe softer music, 

Half a song, and half a sigh ; 
While twilight wraps her purple veil 

Around us silently. 
And our thoughts appear like pictures. 

Pictures shaded wondrously. 

Quiet landscapes, sweet and lonely, 
Silvery sea, and shadowy glade, 

Forest lakes by man forsaken. 

Where the white fawn's steps are stayed ; 

And contadinos straying 

'l^eath the Pantheon's solemn shade. 

And we see the wave bridged over 
By the moonhght's mystic link, 



19;2 TWILIGHT. 

Desert wells by tall palms sliaded, 
Where dusky camels drink ; 

"W^liile dark-eyed Arab maidens 
Fill tlieir pitchers at the brink. 

And secluded convent chapels, 
Where veiled nuns kneel to pray, 

With a dim light streaming o'er them 
Through arches quaint and gray, 

While down the lone: and windiiie; aisles 
Low music dies away. 

There is a stai-ry twilight 

Of the soul, as sadly fair, 
When our wild emotions are at rest, 

Like the j^ale nuns at prayer ; 
And our griefs are hushed like sleepers, 

And put off the robes of care. 



THE SEWING-GIKL. 

I ASKED to see the dead man's face, 

As I gave the servant my well-filled basket ; 
And she deigned to lead me, a wondrous grace, 

AVliere lie lay asleej) in Ms rosewood casket. 
I was only the sewing-girl, and he the heir to this j^rincely 
palace. 

riowers, white flowers, everywhere, 
In odorous cross, and anchor, and chalice. 

The smallest leaf might touch his hair ; 
But I — my God ! I must stand apart, 
With my hands pressed silently on my heart, 
I must not touch the least brown curl ; 
For I was only the sewing-girl. 

If his stately mother knew what I know, 

As she weeping stood by his side this morning, 
Would she clasp me in motherly love and woe — 

Or drive me out in the cold with scorning ? 
If she knew that I loved him better than life, 

Better than death ; since for him I gaA^e 
My hopes of rest, that I faced life's strife. 

And renounced the quiet and restful grave, 



194 THE SEWING-GIRL. 

When liis strong, trne hand drew me back that day, 
When woe, and want, and the want of pity 

Drove me down where the cold waves lay 

Like wolves round the walls of this cruel city. 

" ISTot much ?" would she say with her proud lip's curl- 

" Only the life of a sewing-girl ?" 

ISTo love for me in his heart did linger — 

I saw the lady, his promised bride, 
I saw his ring on her slender finger, 

As she weeping stood by his mother s side. 
That same ring shone, as he lifted me 

Dripping and cold from the sea-waves bitter. 
I had thought Heaven's light I next should see, 

But earth's sun shone in its ruby glitter ; 
I had thought when I looked in the Lord's mild face, 

That He would forgive my rashness and sin. 
When He knew there was not a single place, 

Not a place so small that I could creep in. 
And I wanted a home, and I longed for love, 
And God and mother were both above. 
But he showed me my sin, and taught me to live, 
Above this life of tumult and whirl. 
Though I was only a sewing-girl. 

What shall I do with the life he won, 

From death that day, in a hard-won battle ? 



THE SEWING-GIRL. 195 



Shall I lay it down e'er the rising sun 

Looks down on the city's roar and rattle ? 
Shall I lay it down e'er the midnight dim 
With horrible shadows is roofed and paved ? 

l^o, I will make it so pure and sweet, 
That angels shall say with smiles to him, 

When w^e meet above on the golden street 
" Behold the soul of her you saved." 
Maybe it shall add to his crown one pearl, 
Though only the soul of a sewing-girl. 



HAEEY THE FIRST. 

In liis arm-cliair, warmly cusliioned, 

In the quiet earned by labor, 

Life's reposefiil Indian summer, 

Grandpa sits ; and lets tlie i3aper 

Lie upon Lis knee unlieeded. 

Sliine his cheeks like winter ap23les, 

Gleams his smile like autumn sunshine, 

As he looks on little Harry, 

First-born of the house of Graham, 

Bravely cutting teeth in silence. 

Cutting teeth with looks heroic. 

Some deep thought seems moving Grandpa, 

Ponders he awhile in silence, 

Then he turns, and says to Grandma, 

'' Nancy, do you think that ever 

There was such a child before ?■' 

Grandma, with her prim precision 
The seam-stitch impaleth deftly 
On her sharp and glittering needle. 
Then she turns and answers calmly, 



HABRY THE FIRST. 197 

"With a deep assurance — " Kever 
"Was there such a child before !" 

Papa thinks so, but in manly 
Dignity controls his feelings ; 
More than half a year a father, 
He must show a cool composure, 
He must stately be if ever. 
But his dark eyes plainly tell it, 
Tell it, as he sayeth proudly, 
" Papa's man is little Harry." 

Mamma, maybe, does not speak it. 
But she prints the thought on velvet, 
Eosy-hued, with fondest kisses, 
"When the pink, soft page is lying 
Folded closely to her bosom. 

A little farther goes his auntie. 
Aged fourteen — age of fancy ; 
She looks down the future ages 
"With her wise, prophetic vision ; 
Sees the babies pass before her, 
Babies of the twentieth century. 
All the long and dusty ages. 
To the thousand years of glory. 
Oh, the host of bright-eyed children, 
Thronging like the stars at midnight, 



198 HABRT TEE FIRST. 

Faces sweet and countless, as the 
Kose-leaves of a thousand summers. 
All the pretty heads so curly 
That shall hold a riper wisdom 
Than our youthful planet dreams of ; 
All the ranks of dimpled shoulders, 
That shall move Time's rolling chariot 
l^earer to the golden city ; 
Vieweth these the blue-eyed prophet, 
Still the oracle says calmly, 
Speaks the seer with golden tresses — 
" No ! there never was, nor will be 
Such a child as our Harry, 
Such a noble boy as Harry." 

Summer brings a wealth of flowers, 
Flowers of every form and color, 
Orange, crimson, royal purple, 
All along the mountain passes, 
All along the pleasant valley. 
Low the emerald branches bendeth 
With their weight of summer glory. 

But they do not waken in us 
Half the tender, blissful feeling, 
Half the pure and sweet emotion 
As the first spring-flower in April, 



HAEBY THE FIRST. 199 

With its lashes tinged with crimson, 
Partly raised from eyes half -timid, 
Fearful that the snow will drown it ; 
How we love the dainty blossom, 
How we wear it in our bosom. . 

Just so with the tree ancestral, 
Many flowers may blossom on it, 
But the first wee bud that's grafted, 
To its heart, ah, how we love it ; 
Others may be loved as fondly. 
But they are not loved so proudly. 
Loved so blindly, so entirely. 

Yes, when first the heart''s door opens 
To the touch of baby fingers, 
Quick the dimpled feet will bear them 
To the dearest place and warmes-^ 
Plenty room enough for other 
Buds of beauty, buds of promise, 
In the heart's capacious chambers ; 
But the first is firmly settled — 
Little Harry's firmly settled 
In the centre of affection ; 
Later ones must settle round him. 



THE CEIMINAL'S BETEOTHED. 

As on a "waveless sea, a vessel strikes 

Upon a treacherous rock ; 
Waking the sailors from their happy dreams 

By the swift, terrible shock. 

Dreaming of shaded village streets, and home. 

Forgetting the cruel sea 
Till the shock came — so woke I, yet I know 

'Twas Love, I loved, not he. 

'Tis not the star the wave so wildly clasps. 
Only its form reflected in the stream ; 

'Tis not a broken heart I mourn, 
Only a broken dream. 

I should have died when he was brought so low. 

Had it been him I loved, 
Died clinging to him, as to the blasted oak 

The ivy clings unmoved. 

'Twas Love that looked on me with strange, sweet eyes 

Burning with marvellous flame ; 
Love was the idol that I worshipped, though 

I gave to it his name. 



THE CBIMINAUS BETROTHED. 201 

I gave to Love his name, his glance, his brow, 

His low-toned voice, his smile, 
Oh, soul be patient ; I can sever them 

But yet a little while — 

Before I put away these outward forms 

Deceiving, sweet disguises, which Love wore 

Let my heart break into regretful tears 
Just once, and then no more. 

Just once, as fond friends watch the fading sail 
Bearing away a guest of truest worth. 

They give this little time to grief, and then 
Return to their desolate hearth. 

And build new fires, and gather dewy flowers. 
Let the pure air into the vacant room, 

So light, and bloom, and sweetness, all 
Shall penetrate its gloom. 

I will be patient, in a little time 

Quiet, and full of rest, 
God's peace will come, and, like a soft-winged bird, 

Settle upon my breast. 

Not always thus shall beat my restless heart 
Like a wild eagle 'gainst its prison-bars ; 

In some calm twilight of the future time 
I will sit, calm-browed, underneath the stars. 



GONE BEFOKE. 

Fold the hands 
Gently o'er the silent heart, 
Soft palms nevermore to part 

From their quiet rest ; 
l^e'er to cling to broken reeds, 
Plucking flowers to find them weeds ; 
Ne'er to raise in anguished prayer, 
Nor to clasp in wild despair 
O'er a heart that bleeds ; 
Softly o'er the peaceful breast. 

Fold the hands. 

Close the eyes ; 
Loving eyes of softest blue. 
Tender eyes of Heaven's own hue, 

Close in sleep. 
Sleep thee, darling, through the night, 
Dreaming fancies blest and bright, 
Visions bathed in heavenly day, 
Ne'er to fade and melt away 
In the morning light ; 
Dear eyes, nevermore to weep, 

Close in sleep. 



GONE BEFORE. ^03 

Smooth the hair ; 
Silken waves of sunny brown 
Lay upon the white "brow down, 
Crowned with blossoms rare ; 
Lilies on a golden stream, 
Ne'er to fall in tendrils bright 
On her shoulders bare and wliite ; 
Ne'er to float in summer air 
Wreathed with meadow daisies fair. 
Lay away the broken crown 
And your broken dream, 
"With one shining tress of hair, 
Nevermore to need your care. 



A WOMAN'S HEART. 

My heart sings like a bird to-night 
That flies to its nest in the soft twilight, 

And sings in its brooding bliss ; 
Ah ! I. so low, and he so high, 
"What could he find to love ? I cry, 

Did ever love stoop so low as this ? 

As a miser jealously counts his gold, 
I sit and dream of my wealth untold, 

From the curious world apart ; 
Too sacred my joy for another eye, 
I treasure it tenderly, silently, 

And hide it away in my heart. 

Dearer to me than the costliest crown 
That ever on queenly forehead shone 

Is the kiss he left on my brow ; 
Would I change his smile for a royal gem ? 
His love for a monarch's diadem ? 

Change it ? Ah, no, ah, no ! 

My heart sings like a bird to-night 
That flies away to its nest of light 



A WOMAN'S HEART. 205 



To brood o'er its living bliss 



Ah I I so low, and he so high, 
What could he find to love ? I cry, 
Did ever love stoop so low as this ? 



WAKNING. 

When enwrapped in rosy pleasure. 
Our careless pulses beat, 
"With a rhythm sweet, sweet. 

To the music's merry measure. 

When world waves rise around us, 
With soft transparent weight, 
Liglit in seeming, yet so great, 

The liquid chains have bound us. 

Then softly downward falling, 
If we listen, we can hear, 
From a purer atmosphere, 

A warning and a calling. 

'Tis not uttered to our ear, 
To our spirit it is sj^oken, 
In the wonderful, unbroken 

Heavenly speech that spirits hear. 

Strange and solemn doth it roll 
Downward like a yearning cry, 
From that belfry far on high, 

Warning, calling to our soul. 



WARNING. 207 



Ever, ever, doth it roll, 

Our angel guards the tower, 
Ringing, ringing, every hour, 

Warning, calling to our soul. 



GEXIEYE TO HER LOYEK. 

I TURN the key in this idle hour 
Of an ivorj box, and looking, lo — 

See only dust — the dust of a flower ; 

The waters will ebb, the waters will flow. 
And dreams will come, and dreams will go. 
Forever. 

Oh, friend, if you and I should meet 

Beneath the boughs of the bending lime, 

Should you in the same low voice repeat 
The tender words of the old love rhyme. 
It could not bring back the same old time, 
I^ever. 

When you laid this rose against my brow, 
I was quite unused to the ways of men. 

With my trusting heart ; I am wiser now. 

So I smile, remembering my heart-throbs then, 
The dust of a rose cannot blossom again, 
I^ever. 

The brow that you praised has colder grown. 
And hearts will change, I suppose they must, 



QENIEVE TO HER LOVER. 209 

A rose to be lasting, should blossom in stone, 
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 
Dead are the rose, the love, and the trust, 
Forever. 



THE WILD EOSE. 

In a waste of yellow sand, on tlie brow of a dreary liill, 
A slight little slip of a rose struggled up to the light, 

The seed maybe was sown there by the south wind's idle 
will, 
But there it grew and blossomed, pale and white. 

Only one flower it bore, and that was frail and small. 

But I think it was brave to try to grow at all. 

In groves of fair Cashmere, or sheltered garden of kings, 
Sweet with a thousand flowers, with birds of paradise 

Fanning her blushing cheeks with their glowing wings. 
Praising her deepening bloom with their great bright 
eyes, 

f 

Life would have been a pleasure instead of a toil. 
To my pale little patient rose of the sandy soil. 

Did she ever sadly think of her wasted life, 

Folding her wan weak hands so helpless and still ; 

And the great oak by her sheltering glad bird life. 
And the thirsty meadows praising the running rill ; 

She could hear the happy work-day song of the busy brook. 

While she, poor thing, could only stand and look. 



THE WILD ROSE. 211 

Did the wee white rose ever think of her lonely life. 
That there were none to care if she tried to grow ; 

Xone to care if the cloud that hung in the west 

Should burst, and scatter her pale leaves far and low ? 

Did she ever wish that the heavy cloud would fall 

And hide her, so unblest, from the sight of all ? 

One skj bends o'er rich garden flowers, and those 
That dwell in barren soil, un tended and unblest ; 

And I think that God was pleased with the small white 
rose, 
That tried so patiently to live and do its best ; 

That bravely kept its small leaves pure and fair 

On the waste of dreary sand, and the desert air. 



OUR BIRD. 

She lay asleep, and lier face shone white 

As under a snowj veil, 
And the waxen hands clasjDed on lier l)reast 

Were full of snowdrops pale ; 
But a holy calm touched the baby lips. 

The brow, and the sleeping eyes, 
The look of an angel pitying us 

From the peace of Paradise. 

And now though she lies 'neath the coffin-lid. 

We cannot think her dead ; 
But we think of her as of some delicate bird 

To a milder country fled. 
'Twas a long, dark flight for our gentle dove. 

Our bird so tender and fair ; 
But we know she has reached the summer land 

And folded her white wings there. 



THE TIME THAT IS TO BE. 

I AM thinking of fern forests that once did towering stand, 
Crowning all the barren monntains, shading all the dreary 
land. 

Oh, the dreadful, quiet brooding, the solitude sublime, 
That reigned like shadowy spectres o'er the third great day 
of time. 

In long, low lines the tideless sea on dull gray shores did 

break, 
No song of bird, no gleam of wing, o'er wood or reedy 

lake — 

No flowers perfumed the pulseless air, no stars, no moon, no 

sun 
To tell in silver language, night was past, or day was done. 

Only silence rising with the ghostly morning's misty light, 
Silence, silence, settling down upon the moonless, starless 
night. 



214 TEE TIME THAT IS TO BE. 

And the ferns, and giant mosses, noiseless sentinels did stand, 
Looking o'er the tideless ocean, watching o'er the dreary 
land. 

Ferns gave place to glowing olives, and clusters dropping 

wine, 
Mosses changed to oaken tissues, and cleft to fragrant pine. 

Deft and noiseless fingers toiled, and wrought the great 

Creator's plan. 
Through countless ages moulding earth for the abode of 

man. 

Till each imperial day was bound by sunset's crimson bars, 
The purple columns of the night crowned with the shining 
stars. 

The ripe fruit seeks the sunlight through all the clustering 

leaves. 
The earth is decked with golden maize, and costly yellow 

sheaves. 

Countless silent centuries passed in fashioning good that 

doth appear, 
Shall we weary and grow hopeless, waiting for the Golden 

Year? 



Thy kingdom come, in which Thy will is done, 
i^'rom myriad souls rises the yearning cry ; 



THE TIME THAT IS TO BE. '^Ih 

Scatter palm-bonglis — behold, a brighter sun - 

Shall dawn in splendor, in a clearer sky ; 
Upon the distant hills a glow we see. 
That tells ns of the Time that is to be. 

The desert then shall blossom like the rose, 
The almond flourish on the rocky slopes ; 

Wisdom and beauty in rare union close, 
Making earth beautiful beyond our hopes. 

High in the dusky east a star we see, 

A herald of the Time that is to be. 

The free-born soul shall not be captive then, 
Bound by decaying cords of narrow creeds, 

God's image shall more clearly shine in men, 
Divinely shaped by holy aims and deeds. 

Gleam, golden star, oh gleam o'er earth and sea, 

A herald of the Time that is to be. 

Fetters are broken, so the fern-leaves fall, 
A richer growth is budding, w^ondrous fair. 

The flower of liberty shall bloom for all, 
And all shall breathe the healing of the air ; 

The blessed air that wraps a people free. 

Within that glorious Time that is to be. 

For what is slavery but woe and crime, 
And freedom is but liberty from these ; 



XUG 



THE TIME THAT IS TO BE. 



Oil perfect liours, ye come, fair and sublime, 

Bearing the sweet form of the baby. Peace, 
Shine, golden star, oh shine o'er earth and sea, 
A herald of the Time that is to be. 




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HENRY WARD BEECHER. "Good all the way through, 

especially the proverbs of all nations." 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. ^ " Can hardly fail to be a very 

successful and favorite volume." 
WENDELL PHILLIPS. "Its variety and fullness and the 

completeness of its index gives it rare value to the schoUr." 

Royal octavo, over 900 pp, Cloth, $5.00; Sheep, $6.50: Fancy 
Cloth, Extra Gilt, $7.50; Half Morocco, Gilt, $8.00; Full Morocco, 
Extra Finish and Gilt, $10.00. 

FUNK & WAGNALLS, Fublishers. N. Y. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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